Ye O Cunning One
by deathvalley101
Summary: Harry Potter is a young boy(girl) who entered Hogwarts, like every other British witch and wizard does at 11. Except, this time around, Harry knows a little more about him(her)self thanks to a little outside influence. Trans Harry. Slytherin Harry. Ancient Magic user (Mind reader) Harry. Modern Times. Author messes with Canon a lot. Dark AU.
1. Grimms, Hedges, The Boy

Harry Potter is a young boy(girl) who entered Hogwarts, like every other British witch and wizard does at 11. Except, what if this time around, Harry knew a little more about him(her)self.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. J. K. Rowling does.

-/-/-

_Chapter 1: __The Grimm, the hedge and the boy_ _who dreamed._

-/-/-

Harry didn't like Dudley much. Not very much at all. In fact, if you were to speak to the six year old right this moment and asked the child what he thought of his cousin, you would hear a whole lot of complaining about the other, bigger boy.

Dudley had taken Harry's shoes in the pretense of showing them to his mother for whatever reason his young mind had made up. But instead of showing the shoes to his mother and returning them to Harry, the boy had instead avoided showing his mother completely and had opted to tie the laces together shoddily and throw them over the telephone line that hung over the street three blocks down.

Now Harry stood under the towering black line, wishing he was just a little taller. The very fact that Aunt Petunia would shout at him when he returned past sundown did not faze him right now, his thoughts were much more centered on how he would retrieve his hand-me-down shoes without the use of any nearby trees or walls - the likes of which he had used the last few times Dudley had stolen his older shoes and thrown them over lines. The only form of nature close to him was the prim bushes that were not nearly stable enough to hold him.

The street was empty and even if it hadn't have been no one cared to speak to the boy the Dursley's had so 'kindly' taken in. Harry, even at six, had garnered the reputation of 'trouble child' despite the fact that Dudley was the one who pulled all those pranks and ruined the neighbour's flower gardens and kicked the old lady across the street's cats into bushes.

A soft wind blew, ruffling Harry's tousled hair and making his shoes swing. Very suddenly, Harry felt like crying.

Petunia would be mad, Vernon would come home from work and would agree with his wife on Harry's punishment for returning late _and _with no shoes; the cupboard.

Harry didn't like the cupboard.

On the pavement beside the road on which he wobbled on, a pair of yellow eyes peeked through the bush of 67's front garden. Harry sniffled and looked at it, trying not to feel silly as he stood possessively underneath his shoes. He was hit with a sudden thought; what if this yellow eyed being wanted to steal his shoes?

He shuffled, teetering in place just barely as he stared down the daunting yellow eyes. The bush made a sniffing sound in response.

And a dog emerged from its shadowed green depths.

The dog was slimmer than most dogs, held its head a little lower and walked out with such a tentative waver to its step Harry wondered if it was a stray. Athough his wonderance was based off its tatty, knot entangled black coat.

"H-hello," he mumbled out to it. His eyes flickered between the dog and his shoes before he decided his shoes were going nowhere whereas the dog was steadily crawling towards him.

The dog snuffled and flicked its nose up to the telephone line. It opened its mouth and, "Are those yours?"

Harry blinked. The dog had just spoken. Opened its mouth, uttered real words and then licked its nose. He had to be dreaming, or imagining this. Maybe the Dursleys had been right, maybe he was a weirdo, was this why the dog was talking to him?

"Y-y-yes," he managed, stutter nearly making it impossible to get the word out. Harry hated his stutter, Dudley always laughed at him for it when he spoke.

"How'd they get up there, huh?"

"My c-cousin," he explained, feeling like there was something special about this dog. There was a nice glint to its eyes that Harry rarely seen with people. "H-he threw them u-up there."

"Ah," the dog padded forward, it's long tail wagging. It sounded like a man when it spoke, voice deep and reassuring. It made Harry feel welcomed. It made him feel safe — a feeling he hadn't been privy to since he was eighteen months old and even then he'd been too young to remember such a thing. "That just won't do, will it? Would you like some help getting them down, Harry?"

"How do- How do you k-know my name?" Harry squinted at him a little closer, noticing a scratch along its muzzle that was old and pink.

The dog walked up to him and Harry realised his full height with a startle. He came up to Harry's mid-chest and his tail was long and thick. His coat was really long, too. Maybe longer than some of Petunia's long winding necklaces that drooped down half her front.

"We knew each other a long time ago, kid." He said and in the blink of an eye had twisted into a long haired, thin man. "I'm Sirius, Harry, and old friend of your dad's."

Harry stood there, gaping, as Sirius snapped his fingers and floated the shoes down, catching them in his dirty hands. He handed them to Harry, knots untangling from their messy ball as the younger boy grabbed them.

Sirius, with a harried look around him, transformed back into a dog.

"You can't let anyone know I helped you, Harry. I have to go now."

"What, w-wait! Why?" Harry, one shoe on, one clutched in his hand, jumped towards the dog. "Why can't I t-tell anyone?"

Sirius hesitated, tail wagging a little slower. He looked sad when he turned to look at Harry. "Because a lot of people think I betrayed your family, but I didn't, Harry, I solemnly swear. I- your dad was a good man, your mum an even better woman, I would never..." The dog gave another rushed look around himself. He edged towards the hedge. "I'm sorry, Harry. I need to go, I'll come back soon."

And then he was gone, disappearing into the shadow despite how Harry stared at him as he left. There was one question on his mind that remained, even as a news report came out two days later speaking of Sirius having escaped prison and being dangerous.

Harry wondered, if his parents had been killed in a car crash, then how had that man been accused of betraying them?

-/-/-

At eight, Harry had started realising things. He wasn't as into the actions figures and WWE fights that Dudley was into, disliked the dress shirts that Vernon wore -even the nicer ones- and held a complete disregard for punching things, unlike Dudley.

No, at eight Harry liked looking at pretty dresses that the women on the front page wore, liked watering Petunia's roses and often took over the job of doing so whenever she forgot, enjoyed reading and maybe even looked forward to getting out shopping with Petunia whenever she took him on the rare occasion.

A lot of the time, Harry found himself feeling weird in his own body. He liked his hair long and whenever people mistook him as a girl instead of a guy there was a hint of pride instead of shame.

When he'd turned eight and three quarters, Harry had read a few books in the public library that hinted towards what he felt being called gender dysphoria.

Which meant he felt more like the opposite gender, encased in the wrong body.

It was as if his consciousness had been trapped in the wrong shell, the soul being entwined with the wrong heart and body.

It was one of those more feminine days when the dog emerged from the bushes in the back garden and licked his leg before darting halfway down the garden.

Harry jerked, almost dropping the bush clippers he held most studiously. Petunia and Dudley were busy in the living room and Vernon was out at work. He peered down at the dog and supposed he could shoo it away quietly.

So, very quietly and slowly, he lowered the bush clippers and approached the black furred dog. It was large, with a long tail and a sturdy build. Its coat was clean and something about it seemed so reminiscent that Harry couldn't help but stare.

There was a scar on its muzzle.

"S-Sirius?" He murmured, crouching low to cautiously pat the dog behind his ears. In response, he rumbled a little, shaking his head into Harry's warm hand. Harry let out a soft laugh and felt himself smile a real smile.

"Wow, I t-thought for sure I'd imagined you." He said. His voice dipped at the end of his sentence, uneasyness swamping him. "Wow."

Sirius nuzzled his arm. "Long time no see, Harry. I'm surprised you're still with these Muggles."

"'Muggles'?" Harry asked, quirking an eyebrow like he'd seen a teacher at school do to show her curiosity.

"Ah, non-magical people." Sirius looked like he was smiling, his yellow eyes twinkling. Harry wondered what had happened him, how he was doing; he hadn't heard anything about the 'armed fugitive' in a long time. "We call them Muggles, I'll teach you more when you're older, kid."

"Hey," Harry pouted. "I am old enough."

"Alright, alright, _Harriet,_" Sirius joked. At Harry's confused look he elaborated. "I'm only joking kid, don't you know only girls pout?"

Sirius was grinning. Harry couldn't help but feel the man had said something very, very right. It was the kind of _right_ that resonated tgrough his bones, mingled with his heart and made his chest feel tight and warm. Harry ran over what Sirius had said and felt his chest give a warm burst of joy whenever he thought of the name Harriet.

"Hey, I just thought I should be a good godfather and what use is an isolated godfather?" Sirius circled around him, pawing at the grass. He spared the clippers a distasteful look. "But if you're busy I can wander back through the hedge again."

"Stay," Harry -- no, Harriet said. "Petunia's too scared of dogs to come out if she sees you. We can talk while I trim the bushes."

Sirius opened his mouth slowly and looked ready to talk about how Petunia had her doing work, eyeing the bush clippers, but closed his mouth and nodded at Harriet's excited smile. "Alright, kid. Anything I can do I will."

Harriet seized the chance. "How did you get that scar on your muzzle?"

"Oh, this old thing?" Sirius let loose a soft, nostalgic laugh. "Your dad did this one night. You see me and him were friends with this werewolf, right, and the werewolf was called Remus, a real nice guy. One night, when we were at Hogwarts, we entered the Shrieking Shack--"

They got through five minutes of Sirius' story before Petunia walked through the back door and screamed bloody murder at seeing the large dog standing beside Harriet. Harriet had never seen someone or something run so fast in all her life.

-/-/-

By the time she was readying for her tenth birthday, she had seen him only twice and yet she knew him to be trustworthy. One quiet day, the man appeared in her room.

"I heard you went with it," called a voice from behind her. With a gasp, Harriet turned around, nearly dropping her bundle of clothes and grinned at the man standing before her. Years on, he looked much better, hair cut short to the sides of his head, top gelled back, clothes clean, skin radiant and grin sparkling and full.

Years on, she looked skinnier, paler, hair just as messy. But now she was female — or as female as one could get with puberty inhibitors flooding her veins monthly. The doctors had been wary to inject hormones, seeing as she was only ten, and surgery was out of the question yet for years to come. So the GP had prescribed her leuprorelin which came in the form of a monthly visit to get jabbed by a needle. It only stunted the growth of sexual organs and stopped the mass production of gender-identifying hormones that occured during puberty but something was better than nothing.

The doctors had said it would give her time to decide. Harriet had decided years ago.

At least the Durselys had taken her with open arms; something about Petunia being overjoyed at the prospect of having a girl. Plus, they could put on the front that they'd ditched Harry and had turned him a new leaf, a new obedient little girl peaking through.

"With Harriet? Yes," she answered, stutter long gone. It had taken her months of constant speaking to herself in the mirror, and then to Dudley at whatever opportunity but she had gotten over it. "You're looking well. Come."

She opened the door and beckoned out into the hallway. Sirius hesitated, "Thank you. Are the Durs not in?"

"Out picking Dudley's early birthday presents," she responded, already down half the stairs, clothes bundled in her arms. She was taking the chance to do her laundry while the Dursleys were out and busy for the next few hours. Too often did she find herself with bleached clothing when Dudley was near the washing machine. "They won't be back for the next few hours. What brings you here?"

"What, I'm not allowed to visit my goddaughter?" Sirius smiled, following her and pulling the front curtains shut as he entered the living room. At her curious look, he said, "Can't trust that old lady across the road, out spying for Dumbledore, she is."

"She does act a little weird," Harriet shrugged, loading her washing before snapping the door shut and powering on the machine. She stared Sirius down with her arms crossed when she'd finished. "So, where you staying at now?"

Sirius snapped his fingers and a dull thrum filled her ears until she blinked and it vanished. "What-?"

"The Light have their ways of spying, Harriet, and although they may not be looking right now it's best to destroy those roots before the trees grow." Sirius looked grim, patting down the sofa pillow before he sat on it.

Harriet went with it. "Sure."

She rounded the sofa and blinked. Sirius was levitating inches above the actual chair, but was acting as if he was sitting on the real thing. Harriet supposed she couldn't blame the man, he _was _on the run.

Truth be told, she had no idea why she wasn't afraid of him with all the information she knew about him. But then, most of it was made up for the Muggles, wasn't it.

"I'm staying with an old friend," Sirius continued. He ran a hand through his hair, ruining what remained of the gel. "Remus Lupin, he was part of our group when we were all in Hogwarts; him, your dad, Pettigrew and I."

The man's face twisted into a snarl at the man Pettigrew's mention and looked away from her like he'd said something horrible.

"Who's Pettigrew?" She asked quietly.

"The real traitor, the one who ratted out you and your folks," Sirius barked. "Peter Pettigrew, I swear if I get my hands on him I'll--" he cut himself off and took a deep breath.

"Would you like something to drink?" Harriet offered.

"Nah," Sirius looked up at her and pulled his lips into a tight frown. He motioned beside him, "Sit down, kid. I'll tell you everything."

And tell her everything he did. This time was different, put separate from the last in the way that when Sirius left Harriet wasn't left feeling so confused.

Her parents had been hiding from the Dark Lord in a charm and ward protected house. Peter Pettigrew had ratted out their location like the rat animagus he was. You-Know-Who, otherwise known as Voldemort, had used the spy and had killed her parents. Yet Harriet had survived, Sirius reckoned it was Lily, her mother, who had saved her, with some old spell she'd known or a last act of desperation. Still, to the wizarding world she was known as the Boy Who Lived.

She would've prefered if the community knew of her gender change but she'd take what she could. Sirius had told her all about Hogwarts and she was sure she could make her grand entrance there.

Sirius had actually told her a lot, told her about the back alley shops in Diagon Alley being better than the forefront ones, told her about the War and Dumbledore and Snape and the houses of Hogwarts. He'd told her all about his days at Hogwarts, about the Marauders, about Remus the Werewolf, James the Stag, Lily the Brainiac and Padfoot the Grimm.

Harriet felt assured now. She knew what she needed to, and Sirius assured her he would be there if she needed him. Remus was hoping for the Defense Against the Dark Arts teaching post after the previous professor quit, so she had the possibility of meeting him whenever she moved on.

She couldn't wait for her eleventh birthday.

-/-/-


	2. We Who Fly

-/-/-

_Chapter 2: Those of Great Strides will Soar_

-/-/-

When the first letter came, Harriet was ready. She'd been planning and preparing since the previous year. Sirius had told her of the enrollment letter into Hogwarts, how it would probably come through the little metal square in the door -she'd had to repetedly tell him it was called a door letter flap- or by owl. She would need to respond to it, to assure no more were sent out, and would need to gather the necessary materials herself.

Sirius had assured her, told her she'd be fine with the money her parents had left her and had left her with the parting words of: _avoid Dumbledore at all costs._

Anyway, when the letter popped through the flap, Harriet had been lucky to grab it first. She'd been on letter duty since forever and since Sirius' last visit she'd taken to quickly flicking through for anything interesting, or anything named for her. The plan was to pop anything of hers under her shirt, or fold it up into her pocket. No longer did she sleep in the cupboard under the stairs, such a burden disappearing as Petunia bemoaned having a new woman in the house.

The Dursleys had taken her transformation particularly well, with Dudley only insulting her now rather than punching, and the town had been too shocked to renew their poisonous words against the now-girl Harry. It was a silent win, on her part.

Vernon's voice gurgled from the kitchen. "Harriet girl, hurry up will you! I need that mail now."

"Apologies, Uncle Vernon," she plastered on the apologetic look and coupled it with the bowed head. The outcome was often rather pleasing and Vernon spluttered an apology before letting her go free — as was usual with anyone she used this tactic on.

"I need the bathroom," she hummed, nodding to Petunia. "I'll be back in a moment."

"Take your time," Vernon waved her off.

The stairs were quickly gone underfoot, Harriet scurrying into her bedroom to hide the letter under a loose floorboard for later before going to the bathroom to loiter for a moment and then flush the toilet. She washed her hands, weary of the germs that infested the handle, and was sitting at the table again not forty seconds later.

-/-/-

Sirius had made it clear that he was unable to take her around London, due to the fact thst he was still a fugitive and illegally parading about the place. Although Azkaban had pulled off its Dementors the magical population still greatly feared Sirius Black and any mention of him was greatly shunned, much like everyone's fear of Voldemort.

The letter from Hogwarts was hard and thick in her hand, ink neatly scrawled in the fine penmanship that one could only get from a feathered quill — _yes_, she was quoting Sirius there because how was she to notice the difference the first time around? In her honest opinion, Harriet found the letter unique but quite boring and skipped the babble to get to her kit list.

There was a lot to get but Harriet was sure it was easily bought. First years, apparently, were not permited a broomstick, which Harriet found no problem with - an incident with herself and a car three years ago had severly injured her, collapsing her left lung and the healed organ now left her in great pain with every altitude change. She was also unable to fly in a plane, so it seemed such a thing was a luxury she would not be experiencing.

Nonetheless, the whole idea of going to London didn't terribly faze her, for her freedoms had slightly increased with Petunia's sudden likening towards her. Getting to London, with the abundant ways of wizarding travel that Sirius had told her of, would be simple. He'd even left her some of that chimney travel green glitter stuff for getting to the train station when it came down to it.

Apparition, she believed it was called. No, that was when someone focused on a destination to go and used their magic to get them there. The green powder was used for the Floo Network.

Sirius had informed her that there were numerous wards all around 4 Pivet Drive that restricted apparating, bootlegs and had disconnected the Floo Network but with an hour's help he'd wormed it around a bit so that it was only her that could do all that undetected. He claimed to have also pulled up hidden Black family wards that were completely undetectable that allowed her privacy from the Ministry's Trace spell, thus allowing her free use of her magic whilst underage.

Harriet was glad for it. Already she'd accidentally burned a rose in her hand when she'd gotten angry and made the wall in Dudley's bedroom crack once when she'd seen the abhorrent state of his room. Not big deals, but considering it was her -the child everyone liked to overreact about- she was sure the Ministry of Magic would've been down on her head already.

Once she'd finished reading the letter and had separated the kit list from the introduction, she sent back the introduction, as per instruction. She did so through putting it in another letter and writing out the address. Much to her surprise, the moment she'd finished writing the address the letter -obviously enchanted with the use of Hogwarts' address- sprouted wings and fluttered out her open window.

Harriet scowled at the memory but continued on. She dug out the small jar of floo powder Sirius had gifted her and formulated her plan.

-/-/-

The following day when Vernon was happily at work and Petunia had taken Dudley out for a sudden bout of shopping -a rare thing for the woman to not take her on, but Harriet had played ill- she made her move.

It was all planned out so well. So well that there was no room, nor chance, of mistake.

So, at exactly eleven fifty three AM on a saturday morning, Harriet drew the blinds and started the fire. It was getting colder nowadays, heading into fall, and today was a particularly cold day so a short sudden fire waan't too suspicious and would only mingle with her neighbours smokey chimneys. The blinds drawn could easily be accounted for by a migraine so to keep up the sharade Harriet put on the television.

Settling the jar of powder behind a photo that was never moved due to the hole in the wall behind it, Harriet grabbed a handful of the floo powder before rocking back on the balls of her feet. Remembering what Sirius had told her, she threw her handful at the steady fire and walked into it. "Diagon Alley."

The world tipped around her, twisting left to right before it materialised properly and her feet landed on the cold hard stone floor of a grimey pub. This must've been the Leaky Cauldron, as Sirius had mentioned, so Harriet made no show, aware of lurking eyes. She walked off the transportation quite easily, barely pausing except to assure her hood was pulled low.

Sirius told her the wizarding population would know her for her resemblance to James, if they'd previously known her father. If not, then her lightning bolt scar would be a dead giveaway. So she'd straightened her hair, positive it would hold for the few hours of shopping before springing back, and had easily covered the scar with some makeup.

But the hood made her feel safer, so she kept it up.

She found quickly that trying to blend in with a modern day wizarding society was quite simple. The define within ages was obvious, the younger ones all wearing Muggle lookalike clothing with the older ones wearing robes and such. It was jarring, to see the difference between it all but Harriet progressed on, shifting through the shops quickly. There was a timer ticking in her head that was slowly counting down.

The bank, thankfully, was not the type where you had to go inside to withdraw money, instead there was an imitation of an ATM machine out the front which Harriet got in line for.

It was relatively simple, a fingerprint scanner opened your account and confirmed your identity and you applied for the amount of money you wished to withdraw. Harriet remembered the brief overview Sirius had given her on Galleons, Schillings and Knuts and gathered an appropriate amount to buy anything necessary as well as any extras. She didn't know when she could need it and, true to her godfather's word, she had more than enough money.

Enough that even the boldest gambler would find it hard to spend in several lifetimes.

She got most of the needed books almost immediately in Flourish and Blotts, holding out throughout the stay with her only comfort being the very fact she was alive keeping her upright through the distinguished stench of soil and stale paper. Harriet was glad to get out of the shop, finding the queue all but non-existent.

If the wizarding world was anything like the Muggles' Harriet was sure that it would be the same in that everyone made a mad rush for school supplies the week before heading to school. She was a few months early and therefore was skipping out on the clamour of hectic, last minute shopping.

There was one book she couldn't get in Flourish and Blotts, although the manager assured her she could get it in the Apothecary across the street.

It was something about potions and the directions on how to make the grade one things. Harriet didn't mind the fact that she had to vacate the store, and noted that she needed to go to the Apothecary anyway to get her scales and cauldrons.

She left the book shop only after having the manager spell the multiple bags to be a fifth of their original size, having them made feather light and put inside another bag. Harriet also had him teach her the reversal spell to both, ensuring she wouldn't be left with miniture books.

Across the street, the apothecary was small and smelled of damp wood and burnt embers. A few people lulled about the place, the scraggly looking man behind the counter watching her with his one eyed stare from the moment she entered. She offered him a nod and he seemed appeased, turning to his newspaper again.

Now Harriet may never have been in an apothecary but she could read. Therefore, she went around the shop grabbing what she needed and placing the things in a levitating shopping bag that followed her - of which she'd obtained at the door. Occassionally scanning her list, she found she got most of what was left to get after she'd received her books and found herself with one last thing to grab before buying everything.

The book. The name was weird, in Latin and Harriet took one look at the title and felt shame at trying to replicate the sounds necessary for such a pronounciation. So she decided to not say the book and instead scan the shelved units containing books in search for a similar looking odd title.

Fortunately, she found it quite quickly, three shelving units in. Unfortunately there was a tall, lanky man standing in front of that unit, holding a copy of that very book and flipping through it, scowling at the pages.

Harriet stopped outside of the bubble of comfortable personal space and cleared her throat lightly whenever the man made no indication towards acknowledging her presence.

The man looked up. Black eyes seared into her.

Immediately Harriet knew who this man was.

"Excuse me, I need access to the shelf which you're blocking." She motioned behind him.

"My deepest apologies," he sneered, rising from his straight-backed lean like a zombie from one of those undead films. His turtleneck made him appear even thinner without the shelving unit at his back and Harriet found herself wondering if the man ever ate.

"I'm sure," she replied, grabbing the book deftly from its place. She set it atop her pile in her leviating pseudo-shopping cart and prepared to walk past the man.

"If you're starting into potion making I'd suggest purchasing the Higher Tier Potionology book by Var Kylnson." She looked at him to find his black eyes staring down at her impassively. "That book isn't much use in anything."

"I thought Hogwarts assigned it this year," She questioned. "Or do the first years simply get all the rubbish books?"

Severus Snape narrowed his eyes. "If you wish to do well in potions I'd make a turn around for that other book. First Years were assigned that book, and it is as simple as them themselves."

Harriet smirked and stepped back to scan the shelf again, not particularly wanting to show her back to this man, even if she had heard of him. Sirius had been biased and although he had attempted to keep it friendly and general for her he had not been completely successful. That did not mean Harriet liked Snape, but it also meant she wasn't holding firm to her godfather's stories.

People changed. Occassionally.

A moment later she spotted the book and grabbed it, flicking through it to find that there was a chaptered index which looked interesting. She'd have to look at it later.

She placed the book in her levi-bag and offered Snape a nod. He watched her leave before returning to leaning against the shelf.

Harriet bought her items and asked for them to be enchanted down a few sizes, having the featherlight charm replicated on this batch of bags within a bag (for why do something yourself when someone else can do it for you). Now she had two bags and had been shopping for around forty minutes.

Petunia would be ashamed.

-/-/-

Lunch found her counting her money and buying an icecream sundae from the icecream parlour. The man was awfully nice and had brought her sundae out to her where she sat out by the front seats, sun high above her.

Diagon Alley seemed to be spared the torrential rain that muggle London was currently going through. Later, Harriet would find it was because their weather pattern was offset by four hours, to ensure the shop keepers had enough time to prepare for storms and the like. For now, she enjoyed it and basked in the nearly clammy heat as she ate her sundae.

All she needed was a wand and suitable clothing. Hogwarts, last Sirius had known, was still strictly robes only with a simple uniform underneath with normal clothes being allowed on weekends. Harriet assumed it was still the same, seeing as it was still governed by the same people. It seemed Dumbledore just wouldn't die.

Harriet chose to get her wand first.

The wandmaker, a man she didn't bother to remember the name of, was jittery and kept side-eying her. None of these wands were working, each one constantly burning something or fizzing out.

She'd tried over eighty wands. Not _one_ had worked.

To make matters worse, moments after the phoenix tailed wand shattered the mirror in front of her and sent the wandmaker tumbling off his ladder, the door bell chimed and a good looking family of blondes-bordering-on-white entered.

"Would it not be better if my wand was custom-made, Father?" The youngest male of the three person family, the son, whined. His voice was as high as his nose and it took quite a bit of Harriet's self-restraint to not wince. When the ringing in her ears from the shattering of glass finally vanished she got the joy of hearing the wandmaker nearly lose his voice.

"Mr. Malfoy, Mrs. Malfoy, Young Master Malfoy," the man squealed, rushing over to shake the stern looking man's hand. Said man grimaced and retracted his hand. His wife though, seemed to have more finese and smiled fakely at the man. "Oh what an honor to be getting Young Master Malfoy his first wand. How wonderful! I am--"

"Yes, yes, we know who you are, " Mr. Malfoy said, a daunting smile on his face. "Now if you would hurry up and serve your other customer before pestering us our time here could be cut short."

The wandmaker gulped and shot Harriet a look, as if pleading with her to step down from the podium and hand the blond kid the wand she was loosely clutching. Harriet returned the stare coldly, not one bit impressed.

"He has a point," Harriet said when the man lingered, unsure. "If you'd hurry up and pick a better wand I wouldn't have to stand here."

That seemed to spur him on. With a skip to his very literal jump the small man bounded once again towards his moving ladder and grabbed a wand from the highest shelf.

"Now," he said, sliding down towards her. "I doubt this will be low enough money-wise for you but as you asked for the better wands I will provide."

There was a smug look on his face as he handed her the wand, handle first. Harriet immediately knew the man was trying to make a fool of her and sighed, stepping off the podium.

"You can forget about it, Mr Whatever-You're-Called." She waved a dismissive hand at him, bypassing the Malfoys without sparing them a glance. "I'll hit Jovell's up for a custom one."

The man gasped, concerned at the prosect of loosing money. He was probably frantic about the fact that she'd burned through a good percentage of his wands and wasn't even hanging around to buy one off him. The Malfoy kid shot her an impressed look.

"Oh! Do wait, Miss! There is one wand that's quite special, I suppose you could see it--"

But Harriet was already out the door.

-/-/-

It took five minutes to get a custom made wand sorted out, and she only had to pay the craftsman three galleon more than the original thirty for him to finish the wand in five minutes. It was beautifully handcrafted, encrusted and woven from a sickly oak tree giving it that pointed, dark look. There was a dragon's scale shattered throughout the handle, allowing for incantation-needing spells to be incantationless as long as the hand motions were correct, and the core was a fine mix between a sphynx's heartstring and the crushed, jeweled eye of a snake.

According to the craftsman the combination was very new and the wand was one of the first to have the jeweled eye of a snake acting as a co-core material. A sphynx's heartstring too, was a special one, very rare and usually seen as too tricky to be mastered completely. But Harriet had been picked by it, she'd seen the shimmer of a near blackened red from the display case and had instantly known what it was despite her having no previous knowledge on this subject.

She'd motiomed towards it and the craftsman had taken that as a sign. Maybe it had been, maybe it hadn't but in the end, Harriet found herself with an hour remaining to get clothes and, if she so wished, an animal.

Wand stuffed safely in her hoodie pocket, Harriet walked down the street. Hogwarts allowed owls, cats and toads, if she remembered correctly, or possibly rats. Owls were useful, good for sending and receiving mail and as only one pet was permitted she supposed that her choice had already been made for her.

The pet shop, as it turned out, was closer to her current position than Madame Malakins was. Harriet decided a detour couldn't hurt.

The shop smelled like one would expect, like animals with a sodden undertone of unpleasantness. Harriet never really had been one for animals, had never taken time to interact with ones outside of Sirius' Grimm animagus form. In truth, that meant she wasn't too sure what to get.

Of course there was the screaming option of owls, but she wasn't sure she wanted an owl. Owls were studious creatures and a cage would take up space. Space that the Dursleys would notice, and the owl would create noise that would be unexplainable.

Perhaps she could buy an homing owl that returned on command but required no living quarters? Harriet wasn't sure such an owl was available.

"Any good first time pet suggestions?" She asked the witch behind the counter with a wiggly eye.

"Hmm," the old lady peered down at her past her wart humped nose. "Not sure for first time for you, girl, but I've got something you look like you'd like." She got up and gestured for Harriet to follow. "Come now."

Harriet followed behind at a safe distance where she felt comfortable with getting a stride in without the impending risk of stepping on the old woman's shawl that seemed to sweep the floor like a rug. The old woman wobbled into the darker ends of the store, pausing at a large glass cage lit up with plants.

"This 'ere fellow's been down here far too long. I think he's getting restless." She tapped on the glass and instantly a long brown headed, red eyed snake rose from the flora. He hissed for freedom. The old woman jerked slightly but Harriet just stared, transfixed.

This felt right, the same kind of right that she'd felt when Sirius had first uttered her name.

"How much?" She asked.

The old woman blinked and squinted at her. "Have you went insane? Aren't you going to learn what he eats or how to house him?"

The snake hissed. Harriet understood.

"I already know. How much?"

"Two galleons," the witch said.

_I'm worth twelve,_ hissed the snake.

"Deal," Harriet handed over the money and the witch stared. The snake rose up and nudged the top off its cage and flowed down the side to pool at her feet. He was ten feet long and had the added advantage of becoming invisible for long periods of time. He ate whatever he could find and liked to curl up in warm places.

He was perfect.

She held out an arm for him as she crouched and, lightning fast like her scar, he slithered up her arm, tail curling around it as he settled loosely around her shoulders. His body was completely brown, his stomach only being different in the slight change of scale direction which provided less friction.

"Thanks," she said and left the witch standing there.

_You speak the language of old,_ the snake said.

"Maybe I do," she said back, fighting the urge to hiss. He seemed to understand english well enough so she could stick to it, especially in the presence of other people. Something about this language made her feel like she shouldn't speak it too loudly with other humans nearby.

_Impressive, Speaker._ Hissed the snake, going invisible, getting quieter as they exited the shop. _I am Talon and I will protect those whom you so wish._

"You're a protector, then?"

_Yes, I once guarded the mighty Dark Speaker. But thy was cruel and I left._

Harriet hummed, striding for Madame Malakins. "Will you protect me?"

_Of course, a snake will always protect the needing Speaker. You call and thy will rise. Thy beast of Hogwarts will listen too._

"'Thy beast of Hogwarts'?" She whispered, feeling this information was sensitive. "Who's that?"

Talon snickered. _Why thy beast is the Mighty Basilisk, Speaker. You will like her, she is but lonely._

Harriet mulled over the fact that there was a Basilisk in Hogwarts, as the woman shuffled her up for her measurements.


	3. Snakes and Trains

-/-/-

Chapter 3: _Of Snakes and Trains_

-/-/-

Harriet managed to hide Talon fairly well. Her success was probably boosted by the fact that the snake had taken to living under her bed and travelling through the floorboards whilst within the Dursley house. But it was the very thing itself which she was proud of, not how she did it.

When the time came, she studied for the Muggle tests and came out on top, acing each and every one.

She told the Dursleys she wanted to go to a prestigous boarding school in France. She amped it up with Petunia, told her she would get arrangements over there so that Harriet herself could organise trips home over summer and eventually, after enough pestering, they relented. Only after she promised to not become involved romantically, or anything of the sort.

Not that she would.

Harriet claimed she signed up for the school, and she did — for the online courses, at least. So she was technically attending in case one of the Dursleys called (they probably wouldn't but every great creation needed backups). That was her cover, for while she was off in Scotland, attending Hogwarts.

On the night before the first of September, she told Vernon there was a train heading out that way which many of the students would be catching and all he had to do was drive her down to London. London though, for a man that wasn't particular of long journeys, was a stretch too far. He gave her money for the bus.

That was fine by Harriet's opinion. She'd managed to fit everything inside a medium-sized black suitcase and she'd told them she had to be gone before sunrise. So Harriet simply woke up early, lugged her luggage and snake downstairs and used the floo.

She lounged around the train platform for a bit before taking herself and Talon off on an adventure around London which had her discovering the Muggle entrance to Platform 9 and three-quarters. She bought Talon a cute scarf with some of the Muggle money Vernon had given her, which he seemed to like, and bought herself a pretty, light-weight silver chained necklace.

When it hit half past ten Talon hissed at her to get a move on and by quarter to eleven they were back on Platform 9 again, boarding an ancient looking steam train which had most definitely seen better days.

Her suitcase seemed small in comparison to the huge golden holding rails above her head. Harriet took the liberty to assume the train hadn't seen a renovation since the mid-eighties, at least. It certainly looked that way. Apparently being in the year of 2019 meant nothing to them.

Being sort of early meant that getting a compartment had been easy enough. Getting one that Talon approved of had been slightly more taxing but in the end she'd done it and Harriet and her snake had taken up residence of one of the last compartments. Harriet chose to pull up her legs and cross them while she read a book she'd picked up in London while Talon stretched out half of himself routinely on the seat opposite, grey scarf draped over him like a blanket.

The place was awfully dim but Harriet staunchly refused to break her good posture by hunching over her book. So she took squinting as a necessity and did so. It didn't really help her vision, neverminding the fact that she was probably nearsighted (can't see far away).

Ten minutes later a boy entered her compartment. Harriet looked up, giving him and his possé a once over. The first, she recognised as the fair haired boy she'd seen at the wand shop, whereas she didn't recognise the other two.

The first, on his right, was broad shouldered and wide footed. He stood smouldering over the fair haired boy's shoulder with his arms crossed and his hair cut low across his forehead in an uneven slant. He, unlike the second, had small beady eyes like a rat's. The second boy had wide eyes, bowl-cut hair that clashed terribly with Harriet's twenty-first century tastes and a short pudgy neck.

Actually, both of them had chubby necks, and quite beefy arms. Both appeared to be nothing more than followers; silent, hulking bodyguards perhaps.

"This is our compartment," the fair headed boy said snootily, turning to her with his nose raised high. Then he seemed to recognise her and lowered his nose enough to initiate conversation. "Ah, I've seen you somewhere before, haven't I?"

"Diagon Alley, wand shop," she said simply.

"Right, well I suppose I better introduce myself," he continued, appearing jarred. "I'm Draco Malfoy, and these two are Vincent Crabbe and Greggory Goyle." He gestured to his left and right respectively.

She inclined her head in greeting, "Harriet Potter."

Draco blinked, the other two jerked back.

"It's an honor to meet you, Miss Potter. If you don't mind, could we sit with you?"

Harriet held no care for the boy nor how high he seemed to hold himself. Though, the change in attitude towards her was interesting. She regarded him silently, eyes flickering over the three boys before settling back on her book. "If you ask Talon, of course."

"Talon—?" The boy began before a hiss from behind had him spinning around. He jumped back from Talon as Crabbe and Goyle burst in front of him.

"A snake," Vincent said, crouching so low it looked as if he was doubling over in pain. The boy offered Talon a cautious finger, and when the appendage wasn't bitten off, continued to stroke him. Talon seemed to like the attention, if his preening was of any indication.

"He's my pet," Harriet informed them. Draco shot her a look.

"Why not an owl?"

"Why not a snake?" She responded.

Draco shrugged as if to agree. Talon withdrew from the opposite seat and slithered over to curl around Harriet, pooling himself in her lap to act as a bookrest. Warily, the three boys sat down, Draco sitting beside her with the other two taking up Talon's previous place of residance.

"I thought you were a boy?" Greggory Goyle asked.

"I was," she answered. Harriet had taken to running a finger down Talon's scales as she flicked through her book, in no mood for conversation.

Greggory was nosey. "What happened?"

"I transitioned."

"What does that mean?" Vincent quiered.

"It means I'm transgender. I was born in the wrong body so I had to surgically alter it to make it correct; transitioning at its basics."

"Did it hurt?" Greggory propped himself on his knees.

"No. I'm too young for the surgery yet, so I've got medication."

Conversation continued like that for a good hour, with Harriet remaining mainly silent as Draco talked about the importancy of blood.

"Although," he was saying as the food trolley witch opened their door. "I don't think your blood will matter much, being the chosen one."

"Sugar quills for two sickles each," the trolley witch hummed.

"I'll have one, please," Harriet said, standing to make the transfer. When the witch handed her the sugar quill -sealed in a small little paper box to imitate a quill's box- she thanked her. As she sat down the door closed shut and the witch moved on. The three purebloods were giving her odd looks.

"What is it?"

"You thanked the mudblood," Draco said.

"And?"

"They're not worthy of such praise," he explained. "Mudbloods and blood traitors deserve nothing from us."

"Indeed?"

"Yes," it was Vincent who answered. "When You-Know-Who comes back he'll kill every sympathiser."

Harriet knew who You-Know-Who was.

"Voldemort's dead. Why should you care for a dead man's threat?" She said and enjoyed the stunned silence that followed.

Such silence stayed until the train jittered to a stop at their destination. When it came to disembarking everyone was in such a hurry that Harriet found herself being dragged along with the crowd. Out on the platform Draco stuck by her, with both Crabbe and Goyle hulking behind them.

To say she was confused by their actions was an understatement but if it meant Harriet wasn't about to get jumped any time soon she'd take what she was getting.

A large giant of a man called for the first years in a horribly thick accent. With a scowl Draco motioned towards the shaggy looking man who was practically all beard and hair. The look he shot the rickety wooden boats was most distrustful.

Harriet found herself herded onto a boat with Draco and Vincent, Gregory going over to the neighbouring boat due to their capacity limit.

"Alrigh'!" Called the hairy man with shoulders the size of boulders. "Keep yer arms an' legs in ah all times fer I'm nah jumpin' in fer ya."

The lake was large and shone with the moonlight. It was a little past the full moon, which probably meant that Remus Lupin was ill but recovering. Harriet hoped to see him at the Sorting.

The current event was quite appealing to the eye. It was dark, the water was glossy and the boats were gently pushed along by magic in a straight symmetrical V-shape. Even if the boats felt grimey to the touch Harriet would be getting a bath later, for sure, so she wasn't too bothered with getting her hands dirty.

How unfortunate for Greggory that he'd picked the boat with who would turn out to be the resident clutz. The boy in front of him, at the helm of the boat, screamed and shot to his feet at the sight of a tentacle arising from the lake. Said boy lost his balance and not only fell overboard but pulled his boat and its persons with him.

Suddenly the boats stopped and the giant man, who'd been leading their progression turned around his boat and sped towards the capsized one. Greggory was easily tredding the water with calm strokes but the mousey haired boy who'd tipped the boat was splashing about like a beheaded chicken. The other passenger, a girl, seemed perfectly fine and was frowning at the panicking boy as if he wasn't worth the brain cells it took to help him.

"Calm yersel', calm yersel'!" The giant yelled, one large hand dipping into the water to scoop up the splashing child. He motioned at the boats and the two nearest, Harriet's and a redhead's hovered over. "Grab the other two, will ya?"

Vincent wasted no time in tugging Gregory beside him, offering a crooked laugh that forced an unambiguous grunt out of the later. The girl, who seemed terribly bored with the situation at hand, hauled herself up with the help of another, black haired, girl into the redhead's boat when he offered no assistance. When the giant had made sure everything was in order and no-one had drowned, they resumed their progression along the water.

Harriet watched as the upturned boat was dragged under the waters by a few dark tentacles. She turned to Malfoy, "Who was the boy?"

"Which one?" Draco sneered, a keen eye on the redhead just a few feet away from them. "The damn redheaded Weasley or the stupid mouse-of-a-thing Longbottom?"

"You dislike Weasley," she noted.

"Of course," Draco said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world with a hint of _why wouldn't I? _"Ronald Weasley parades about like he owns everything, arrogant and bigheaded — at least his brothers aren't that bad."

"And what of Longbottom?" Harriet queried, eyeing the boy who shivered on the giant's boat.

"Neville Longbottom," Vincent added when Draco didn't respond, too busy gritting his teeth and flexing his jaw at Weasley's silhouette. "Parents sent insane by Lestrange in the War, his Aunt looks after him. Kid doesn't know the difference between a hex and a curse, if the rumours are true."

Harriet took that to mean people shunned him due to an apparent lack of brainpower. "Hmm," Talon hissed about being cold. She tucked the scarf tighter around him, aware of how odd she must look with a scarf wrapped around her arm.

Before long they'd shored, flimsy wooden boats scraping up against coarse sand. The giant got out first, shuffling along the bumbling Longbottom boy as he led them up the mighty stairwell to the front door. It appeared they'd arrived at the side of the castle, much later than everyone else which Harriet thought inconvenient. What was the point in nearly drowning if there was no speed advantage to it?

"All first years take the great tour over the Lake," a dark skinned boy said, yellow eyes smiling at her in a different way when compared to his toothy grin. A hand found itself hovering between them, expectant. " Blaise Zabini, standing before you. If I may inquire as to who has gained such attention from Malfoy--?"

Harriet observed him. She had a pinched feeling in her chest that she couldn't shake as they climbed the stairs. Her old collapsed lung was protesting the altitude change; something she hadn't accounted for when thinking about living in a castle.

In her silence two more girls approached their growing gaggle. One was the girl who'd capsized, the other the one who'd helped. "Pansy Parkinson," the black haired girl with her hair in a bob said. At her companion's silence the other girl received a firm elbow in the ribs.

"Milicent Bulstrode," the slightly damp girl muttered, gaze faraway.

"Harriet Potter," she responded, running a soft finger down Talon's side as he hissed noisily. He wasn't liking the temperature change this high up. Harriet regretted to admit that she was beginning to pant, lung tightening.

Blaise stared at her with an intensity that could've been awkward had she actually cared. "Are you alright?" He asked, pace slowing a tad to edge closer to her. "You're looking a smidge pale."

"Harriet?" Draco echoed. "Do you need to sit down?"

"It's nothing," she waved off, fingers prodding at her right breast. "An old injury, is all."

The boys looked unsure and even Milicent had tuned in for long enough to shoot her a look. "What sort of injury?" Pansy asked.

"The sort which Muggles cause," Harriet answered, revelling in their disgusted silence. It seemed most wizards had an opinion on Muggles — an opinion that Harriet found funny as it meant she could tug heartstrings where she needed. The _Girl_ Who Lived suffering from a Muggle-done injury? If she was the equivalent of a celebrity here compared to the Muggle world then the newspapers would definitely be all over it.

"Despicable what they do to their masses," Blaise said, sharpened gaze lingering on her. The giant halted at the grand wooden doors and shouted encouragement for the stragglers.

Harriet agreed, feeling anger at the drunk driver who'd caused her pain for the first time in a long while. "Indeed."

Talon shifted on her shoulder and slithered off, somehow managing to ruck his scarf neatly into her cloak's large pocket before he disappeared off into the shadows with a promise to return later. The group around her watched in silence as her snake slithered off.

"He yours?" A boyish voice came from behind. It didn't particularly startle Harriet that all of the students had witnessed Talon's stunt yet the giant had not.

"Yes."

"Cool," said the dark haired boy. His olive skin stood out in the gauntly lit stairwell, short hair a direct contrast to Blaise's long deadlocked mass. The modern undercut hairstyle made Harriet wonder if this boy with wide eyes and a keen jaw really was a pureblood. Even Draco flaunted an old pushback, gelled to perfection.

"I've always wanted a snake," he continued, "But Mum doesn't much like them. I'm Theodore Nott, my friends call me Theo."

Harriet looked him in the eye and nodded. "Very well, Theo. Harriet Potter."

She wondered if everyone else mysteriously ran into people on their first day of school. From what little shows of that kind she'd seen, Harriet wasn't too sure many followed that plot line.

Just as Theo gaped at her, the large wooden doors swung open to reveal a woman with a tight greying haired bun. She boomed, "Welcome, first years, to Hogwarts!"


	4. Hat and House

-/-/-

Chapter 4: _The Hat and Her House_

-/-/-

"Seamus Finnegan!"

The great hall was certainly large, a fact Harriet would not dispute. Although, when one looked at the room at large — tall, gaudy stone walls aligned with sweeping tapestries of the four houses; smoothed stone floor cluttered with four long tables; hovering candles steadily losing height to attached waxcups; a long carved mahogany table standing firm at the very end of the hall, filled with surreptitious professors; plainly chipped birch tables seating what seemed to be hundreds of children, all murmuring about the new term and faces — it seemed far too odd to be the heart of a thousand year old castle. The sight of the majestic boulevard-courted stronghold outside in the spotted illumination of the moon was a great clash to this hallway-lit stoned castle that gleaned and seemed to spew light from every corner and crack.

"Jerund O'Turn!"

Harriet stood aside from what remained of the gaggle of first years, all her group aside from Zabini having been sorted away, filled away like errant papers. Something she'd noticed that, whilst not everyone was cheered for just as loudly, those sorted into Slytherin were not cheered for at all. In fact, if the Hufflepuff's were kind in their silence, the Gryffindor's were _brave_ in their boos and jeers.

A small image flitted past the edge of her memory; one she'd seen from a horror film years ago when Dudley had announced in no uncertain terms, on his birthday, he was a _man_ and had dragged them to the cinema to watch the latest in five star gore. The image was a small thing, lined in red and made scratchy by time but the sight of torture remained with her, ripped out intestines leaking through a hole in a man's stomach. Dudley had vomitted at the sight, Petunia had screamed, Vernon went pale. Harriet had laughed, soft and muffled into her fist, as her cousin wept enough for the both of them.

This sight followed her up the steps once her name was called. The room tipped into whispers and not-so-quiet murmurs when she stepped forward, a girl despite their previous knowledge.

Minerva McGonagall spared her a look, a hesitant mix between confusion, annoyance and disbelief. The older woman, barely wilting with age but showing it in the form of greying hair and crow's feet at her eyes, leaned down, body nearly folding in two, and set a warm hand on Harriet's cloaked shoulder. "I'm sorry, dear, I called for _Harry Potter._"

Her tone was soft, as if she was fending off the beginnings of embarrassment for her.

Harriet levelled her with her most unimpressed gaze yet. "That would be me." A shocked silence made her words reverberate through the room. "Although, I prefer Harriet."

McGonagall sucked in a wheezed breath as Harriet sat down on the stool. It was low down and altogether far too coarse to be comfortable but Harriet made do as the hat was hovered over her head and finally dropped.

_Well, well,_ murmured a voice quite unlike anything she'd ever before heard. _Harriet Potter. Aren't you interesting?_

_Indeed?_ She thought back, aiming her thoughts toward the sentient hat. The noise of the hall had died out but if she were to open her eyes the chittering students would be clearly seen, mouths moving but with no sound to accompany — to her, at least. McGonagall had mentioned that in her earlier speech, something about the hat nullifying all sound so that the sorting was as accurate as possible.

Harriet smirked at the thought of a poor Hufflepuff being sorted into Slytherin over something as mundane as a little bit of _noise_ .

_Quite the dark streak in you, yes. Just what I like to see in my Slytherins but you have the courage of a Gryffindor and the wit of a Ravenclaw. Hufflepuff would be pushing it, even for me._

She asked, _You place people where they wish?_

_Occassionally, _the hat admitted. _When the house lines are blurred and they'd fit wherever. Where, my girl, would you like to go?_

A memory appeared of the group of people who'd festered around her on the steps, worried looks more real than any smile she'd seen on Petunia's face when said thing was aimed at her. The hat, obviously being inside her mind, picked up on this memory.

_Ah,_ it — he? Did a hat confer to gender roles? — noted, sounding decisive. _You've made a few friends then, good souls they are too. They're loyal, I'll tell you. I suppose you wouldn't mind being a snake then, seeing as you can talk to them as well?_

Harriet's heart stopped short and if she had not have been overly worried about her lung from earlier she would've stopped breathing too.

_It's quite alright, _assured the hat. _This is all secret. No-one finds out about anothers sorting from me. Not even when asked will I tell, promise._

Harriet wanted to shift, wanted to get up and pace around the too tiny stool but she was all too aware of the eyes on her. Was her sorting taking too long? Would they whipser about how odd it was? Very suddenly, the thought of attention made her stomach flip-flop.

_This is taking no longer for you than it has anyone, my dear. Are you alright with wearing green and silver for the rest of your seven years?_

She pondered that. _I guess._ Apparently she looked good in green, even moreso the darker it was. Slytherin's green was so dark it could be confused for a forest on an aerial map.

_Take a look at your back tonight, _the hat said, tone odd, before shouting: **_SLYTHERIN!_**

Harriet stood in the uneasy silence of the great hall, the hat's final words having made her ears ring. She felt like she was floating on cotton, stomach twisted into knotts at the last comment to look at her back tonight. What had that meant?

The loud, racious claps and cheers of the Slytherins filled the hall twice over and snapped her out of her own mind. Back in the moment, Harriet came to just in time to feel herself sit down beside Draco. In front of her, sitting beside each other, Pansy and Theo grinned at her whilst Millicent dazedly offered a smile. Vincent and Gregory sat opposite each other, at the edge of their gaggle, and offered her _proud?smug?satisfied?_ nods. Under the table, Draco tapped her hand for her attention and rewarded her with a too-big-for-life grin, a happy twinkle in his incandescent silver eyes. When Zabini joined them, he sat beside her, completing their group, his own eyes alight with glee.

For the first time since she'd gotten out of 4 Pivet Drive earlier that day, Harriet felt an emotion most identified as joy flood her.

-/-/-

Feeling light and floaty, Harriet let herself walk with her fellow first years to their common room. It seemed that, whilst the other houses had obtained rooms in the upper castle, Slytherin had chosen a room down in the dark depths of an old dungeon that was designed to keep people in, not out.

Two prefects, a boy Alcover Thawyer and a girl Melissa Carross, led them down to the convoluted area that Harriet was sure had many students edging away. Shadows clung to the walls, tightly marked with symbols that reminded Harriet of that old movie she'd once seen where the characters had conversed through ancient languages — like Hebrew — in their written forms, symbols hastily scribbled on walls, whilst escaping from an insane serial killer who was stalking their mansion. It had been a good watch although the original book had set high standards and the film had been a flop; still, Harriet found it amusing and, in part, a good idea.

"We have a password to get in," Thawyer was saying, a boy with hair so dark it looked to be neither brown nor black. He strode with a sway that told people he was important. No doubt he was pureblooded. "This password remains a secret to everyone but us and anyone found giving it out — especially to the Weasley twins — will be punished directly by Professor Snape. It changes weekly but there's an entire square on the notice board dedicated to it, beside the spare schedules, should anyone lose theirs."

"If any of you encounter any problems, be it work-wise or people, don't hesitate to inform us or Mister Snape." Carross said, long blonde hair curling across her back like curdled milk. Her deep violet eyes seemed to glow in the gloom, keeping her gaze sharp and piercing. "Inter-house bullying is far too common when it comes towards the others and us. We don't want any of you bogged down by the rubbish they spew."

Harriet could see why Carross was a prefect, she mused as they halted by a seemingly normal wall, no different than any of the others they'd passed.

The first years were the only ones who heard the whispered _"fiendfyre" _as the rest of the years had slunk back the moment the prefects had started their tour. Harriet appreciated the act, noted it down in how willing it was — she, like all the other houses, had definitely seen how the Gryffindor first years had been forced to scramble through the masses to get to the front.

The sleek stone wall slid back a few inches silently before disappearing into the wall with a sliding motion. Thawyer and Carross ushered them into a green lit room, sparkled with green couches and silver carved tables. In the far corner sat enough bookcases to constitute a library, in the middle on the right sat a blazen black fireplace, silver fireguard uprooted to protect the three silver armchairs and singular low-cut coffee table that had gathered around it. At the far back of the room, in the corner, lay a full window — from ceiling to floor — that displayed the murky green depths of the lake on the other side. If quiet enough, one could hear the gentle lapping of the water against said window and walls, but at the moment there was no silence, merely excited hums as the mass of Slytherins skulked into their safe haven.

Casting an observing eye around the place, Harriet noted how a stair case disappeared off to the left — no doubt trailing the way to the dorm rooms. On closer inspection, the floor was a cold stone, coated with green rugs around the library and seating areas. The rug around the fireplace was fluffy and extra flammable, the unsheathed blades that crossed over each other, bearing the Slytherin coat of arms atop the mantlepiece seemingly making it shine with dots of silver. Now inside the room the noticeboard was clearly visible, beside the door to its left, with an empty picture frame to the noticeboard's left, the silver carved frame looking outcast from where it brooded in the corner with a brilliant view of the entire room.

"The Bloody Baron is our portrait," said Thawyer, motioning towards the very frame. "He may act snippy but he listens and can differentiate the boundaries between problem and emergency situation, should such a need come. He's probably up with Professor Snape right now."

"That or flirting with one of the ladies on the sixth floor," a boy snorted. He stood taller than Thawyer at 6"3 with deep blue eyes to boot, thick brown hair looking like it had dried upside down. "Let's skip to the introductions."

"Go right ahead, Marrow." Carross placed a hand on her hip. "Snape won't be down until tomorrow morning so who's to know if the first years don't get down until ten."

"You make it sound like a choice, Car," another boy smirked, drooping dramatically into one of the armchairs by the fireplace. "Where's the throws gone? That damn Filch hasn't been here again, has he?"

"They'll be in the closet then, Jasnel. Use your brain for once."

The boy who'd first interrupted Thawyer cleared his throat. "Alright then, firsties! I'm Pietre Marrow but here in the house of snakes we use surnames as a customary unless you're friends, so get to know me as Marrow."

"Because P over there doesn't have any friends," the boy on the armchair grinned, recently draped in a fluffy looking green throw by a purple haired boy. He didn't seem to mind the contradiction that was his words and continued on, "I'm Vaisey. Anyone who calls me _daisy_ is getting the cruciatus."

"Don't be so harsh," the boy who'd retrieved Vaisey's throw scolded. His purple hair almost matched his flittering mauve eyes. With a gentle look he nodded to the younger ones, "I am Corvinus Gaunt. A vice-prefect and the one who makes sure our miniature library is in operational conditions when Pince is being standoffish."

At the weary looks shared between the older students, who'd all fanned out to their own chairs or rooms, Harriet assumed Pince was the librarian and as such, quite the handful.

Draco smirked, "I've heard of her. My Father tried to get rid of her a few years ago for something along the lines of discrimination."

"Maybe you should bring it up again," a new boy spoke up, bouncing over with an uncanny delight in his step as he approached Vaisey's couch and kicked the other boy off. "Old coot still hasn't given me back those hallu-gems the twins gave me."

Vaisey rolled on the fluffy rug like he didn't quite mind the violent hit his comfort levels had taken. Gaunt, with a fond shake of his head, was the one to finally approach and help him up.

"Maybe you shouldn't have been popping them when she was on watch, twit." Thawyer snickered, having eased back to lean against one of the couch backs. Harriet started as Draco pulled her back a few steps, pulling her onto a couch. Thankfully he didn't speak, as amused by the older one's banter as she was.

"Hmph," the Thawyer-assessed 'twit' pouted, arms crossed. "Whatever. Anyways, I'm Wertive Avery — the one you go to if you need a few late night munchies."

"Because he actively raids the kitchen after charming the way in out of those Weasley twins."

Amused laughter snuck around the room at that. Harriet realised the Weasley twins had been mentioned an awful lot in the past hour. It seemed they were well liked. And Draco had nothing bad to say about them yet, either, which was a bonus.

"Continuing onwards," announced a brunette with sharp prickly hazel eyes. "I'm Yvonne Mulciber. Keeper for the Quidditch team."

"Marcus Flint," a stocky boy added, sandy brown hair cut into a long mohawk that was held back in a fashionable manbun. "Quidditch team Chaser and Captain."

"Oh, so now we're talking about Quidditch," Vaisey called from where he'd ended up perched beside Gaunt. "I'm Seeker!"

"Not that anyone wanted to know," another girl said from behind Harriet. Her hair was nearly so auburn it was red, a definite opposition to her pale white eyes. She was slightly unnerving, despite her kind smile. "Lucinda Tracy, Beater with Thawyer over there."

The night wore on, the rest of the Slytherins introducing themselves, some loud, some quiet. Harriet herself listened but was far too eager to get to her room to see what was going on with her back. Finally, but only after the Bloody Baron had made an appearance and warned that Snape was coming down to check they were in bed, Thawyer showed them to their rooms.

At the end of the long hallway that branched off no less than twice, they arrived at two doors opposite each other.

"Here we are," gestured Thawyer, looking rushed at the thought that Snape was on his way. "Left is the girls, right is the boys. No boys in the girls rooms unless they want expelled by the wards."

"Will that effect me?" Harriet asked. "Seeing as the entire magical population believes me to be a boy."

Thawyer made a thoughtful humming noise at that before shrugging. "It shouldn't. I'm half sure the wards were altered a while back to only respond to the person's mental perspective of their gender, seeing as we've had a few transgender students in the past. If it all goes wrong, though, I'm sure we can get you a prefect room — they don't use the wards, only passwords."

Harriet nodded and, with everyone watching her, opened the door to the girl's bedroom. She stepped forward, nearly expecting the sting of pain, but found nothing but a room filled with green blanketed beds arranged in a semi-circle. When she turned back around Thawyer was grinning like the rest of them.

"Alright," he said. "Looks good. Gotta go now, before Snape pops in. Have a nice sleep, all of you."

"Night," Draco nodded to the elder, bypassing him to enter the boy's room, Vincent and Gregory following close behind. Thawyer smiled, watching as Theo tried to enter the room before Blaise did, nearly faceplanting in the process.

"Good to meet you, Potter. I'm glad you're with us," Thawyer said lastly, before he too turned and left.


	5. Magic's Fickle, Not Thin

-/-/-

Chapter 5:_ Magic is Fickle but not Thin_

-/-/-

Harriet was grateful her suitcase had ended up at the end of the four-poster nearest to the window. It meant she at least had a nice view as she squinted through the entire wall that was a window.

The dorm was nice, plush rugs under each of the beds and one large one in the center of the room. They covered up most of the chilly stone floor and seemed to make the room bigger in a way that the green silk of the posterbeds couldn't replicate. Their blankets were green as well, a nice deep colour that reminded Harriet of a luscious meadow, with silver stich trimmings. There was a large chandelier hovering in the middle of the ceiling on its own vindication, burning balls of fire seemingly self-sufficient.

"It's pretty," Millicent said, gazing out the window as bits of leaf and fish swam past. She was already in her pyjamas, having easily swapped out her cloak and uniform for pink unicorn-print pjs and fluffy striped socks without a qualm about the other girls in the room with her. Harriet had found her lack of worry reassuring — no worry meant trust — but still shocking.

Quietly, with the other girl's chatter at her back, Harriet settled her suitcase onto her bed and pulled out her nearly folded jersey and slacks for sleeping. The jersey was an old thing, edging towards threadbare in its dull grey state — an old thin jumper, one of Dudley's past ones that actually fit her okay and one that she liked enough to hold onto even when Petunia had taken her shopping for new clothes. The slacks were her own; thin shallowy pj trousers that acted like silk and shivered whenever she moved. They were a dull purple, the clean colour often intercepted by the little white deer spaced along the garment every five centimetres.

She put on her slacks first, tugging them on over socks in a way she wasn't used to doing. Harriet had found out the hard way that if she was sleeping in an unfamiliar place she needed to wear socks to be confortable or else she wasn't going to sleep. When she'd undone her tie and was working on pulling the blouse off she heard a loud, shocked gasp from behind.

"By Merlin's beard, Harriet!" Pansy wailed, sounding scared and confused. "Your back!"

Harriet jerked, turning around with nothing but her shirt, tugged halfway up, on above her wasitline. "What?" Her hand reached behind her, knuckles running down her back to fall into the crease of what felt like an indentation. At the slow trailing motion she was following with it, the realisation that the hat had been talking about _this_ hit. How had it known when even she hadn't?

"Does it hurt? You look surprised," Pansy approached, eyes cautious even as Harriet allowed herself to be turned around by lithe fingers. Pansy traced the outline of a large mark she could suddenly now feel for every little millimetre. "Have you always had this?"

"No?" Harriet said, statement sounding more like a question. She cleared her throat and started again. "No. I would've seen this when I showered this morning, so it has to have appeared between seven and now. I'm only just feeling it."

"That narrows it down," Pansy said lowly, fingers still hesitating on the mark. It felt like a large _s _curved into the rim of a jagged oval, a sharp line piercing through its middle. Harriet wasn't sure how she knew that, past the feeling that her back had turned to mush. "This can't be normal. What should we do?"

Harriet didn't know. The hat had said to look at her back but nothing else. Her stomach span in a circle, muscles spitting out lactic acid that made her breathe a little heavier at the pain.

"Blaise," Millicent said very suddenly in the quiet room. "He'll know what to do."

"How?"

Millicent answered, tone level and calm. "His Mother was a curse-breaker, he'll know. Come on."

Harriet blinked. Pansy explained with a small smile that she was sure was meant to be reassuring. "We're purebloods from noble families, of course our parents would organise playdates for us when we were younger."

And if the tight feeling in her chest didn't feel like intruding then Harriet didn't know what did.

-/-/-

Blaise nearly choked whenever she turned around and lifted her jersey to show him and the boys the mark in her back.

"By the gods," Harriet heard him mutter, seconds before a cold hand traced down the edge of the _painful-sore-burning_ thing in her back. She flinched and the apology was quick but shaken. "How long have you had this?"

"Wasn't there when I showered at seven AM so I'm assuming it popped up sometime between then and now."

"No," Theo said, something hard in his voice. His eyes were shuttered. "This is old, you've had this for years."

"You know what it is?" Harriet found herself asking before she could stop to think that over.

"It's a sigil, Potter." Blaise informed her. "A very powerful mark that, if carved into something, can do so much as to protect that thing, or destroy it. House walls are carved into with much simpler ones to protect them, some mingle with wards and make tracking all but impossible, some heal."

"What's it doing on me, then? I'm no house. Can you figure out what it does?"

Blaise's cool hand found her back again, running a quick dash underneath the lowest point of the circle. "It's a seal. Someone — a very long time ago — sealed something inside of you and intended to hide it."

"How long ago?" She pried.

"Around ten years ago," Blaise said, tone dropping. Suddenly their friends around them stilled, faces drawn tight.

"Do you think—?" Draco started.

"It couldn't be," Pansy murmured.

"But—" Theo cut himself off. When he spoke again it with with twice the conviction. "It couldn't have been He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named because he threw an AK curse at her, not some sealing spell. I'm also pretty sure he wouldn't have pulled out a scraper pen to carve _this _into a one year old's back!"

"Volume, Nott." Blaise reprimanded. "Malfoy, do you know how to perform a silencing spell on a room?"

"Of course," Draco nodded, standing in Harriet's line of sight from where Blaise had folded her in half after she'd sat down on his bed. "Already done."

"Good. Potter, we need to undo this now, before it begins to harm you. It's burning, isn't it?"

"Possibly," she managed through gritted teeth, knuckles whitening around her pj covered legs.

"I'll do it quickly," Blaise assured, appearing before her to rummage through his trunk. "You're very lucky that I brought along my carving kit."

"How're you gonna get rid of it?" Theo asked, sounding nervous.

"Parkinson, find her something to bite down on."

"Got it," and seconds later Pansy was shoving something into her mouth after easing her jaw down. "It's okay, Harriet. It'll be done before you know it."

Harriet had the brief moment to think _oh shit, this will hurt_ before something _hotcoldwarm_ touched her back. The pain erupted like a volcano, shooting through her like the pope burning out a devil. Her hip ached from the feedback, ribs quivering as her fingers tightened around the loose material on her trousers until they went numb. Harriet held back the scream for a whole four seconds before her lungs whimpered.

Blaise whispered something — maybe a reassurance, maybe not — into the air that was lost over her howls. Beside her Draco jittered in place, his green socks flicking past Harriet's vision as he paced; Pansy had taken to clutching one of her wrists, squeezing periodically to try and help while holding her hair off her back; Theo was beside Millicent, looking very unsure in the way his knees shook and Millicent herself was silent, eyes wide and wholly visible from where she'd kneeled on the floor.

Suddenly the pain stopped, Blaise's whisperings ceased and Harriet was left panting. Her head hurt, felt full like it hadn't before.

_Thank Merlin she's not dead,_ Blaise said. No-one reacted. Harriet was too busy trying to control her breathing as she tugged her hands away from her trousers and shakily pulled out the thick sock from her mouth. She spluttered before deciding that it was clean enough to be okay.

_Fuck, _Draco wheezed, sounding tired one moment and steely the next. "Should I lower the silencing spells?"

"Yes," Blaise said, standing to put his kit back in his trunk. Harriet watched him put it back in with all his neatly folded clothes, happening to look at Theo as he spoke.

_Thank the gods it's over,_ gasped the boy. His mouth didn't move. Harriet stilled.

Millicent, oddly attentive, noticed her quick jerk-freeze motion and shuffled closer. "Are you alright, Harriet?"

Harriet swallowed the saliva in her mouth, her glands still working overtime from the adrenal boost they'd been given. She could only manage a nod, jaw wound too tightly to form words.

_My heart's beating so loudly,_ Pansy said but didn't really because her mouth didn't move. Harriet cast looks to the others and found that they hadn't reacted where she was sure someone would've. A pain behind her eyes started up, niggling and insistent.

The hat's words repeated in her mind: _check your back tonight._ Had it known? Had the hat put this seal on her? What had it sealed?

A few minutes passed and eventually Harriet found the will to muster up some words. They came out quiet and raspy. "Thank you."

Blaise shook his head, "It was nothing." _I wonder if she feels any different?_

"No," she said and was met with silence. Harriet looked at the people gathered around her, looking at her like she'd broken a china piece in a museum and had laughed it off. "What?"

"What do you mean what?" Theo asked, confusion twisting his words and face. "It was you who just said 'no' to Blaise's 'it was nothing'."

"What?" She couldn't help the head tilt that followed. "But I heard you ask if I felt any different."

Blaise blinked, "I wasn't aware I had said that, apologies."

"No, wait. I didn't hear you say that, Zabini. Are you sure you're okay, Harriet?" Draco was suddenly beside her, hand on her bare shoulder.

"What did you do to the sigil?" Harriet asked.

"I removed it," Blaise said finally. "You wouldn't even know it was there barely five minutes ago."

Pansy tsked. "You need to work on your internal clock, Zabini." _It was more like ten._

But Blaise continued on as if he hadn't heard the last part and maybe he hadn't. Harrier watched with wide eyes. "Oh, how long would you say then, Parkinson?"

"More like ten minutes," Harriet said for her. Pansy blinked at her before grinning victoriously. Harriet felt dizzy. "Someone think something," she ordered.

"What?"

"Pardon?"

She glanced up in time just to see Theo not really say but still say, _What the hell?_

Harriet sucked in a rough breath. "Theo just said 'what the hell'."

All eyes turned to Nott, confusion clear on the others faces. Nott himself blinked at her.

"No," he corrected. "I might've thought that but I didn't say it... Did I?"

"I didn't hear you," Pansy frowned, right beside Theo.

Harriet coughed up a laugh that had the others freezing up on the spot.

"Harriet?" Draco tried, sounding unsure. "Do you feel okay?"

Vincent and Gregory appeared in that moment, a sulfuric smell wafting over everyone as the chuckling boys shared pasteries between them.

"Where have you two been?" Pansy snapped, narrowed eyes firm on their lined pockets. Harriet felt her fear, recognised the anger that speared her heart and numbly noted that Pansy was directing her feelings towards the unlucky latecomers.

"They were at the kitchens," Theo defended, _after charming a house elf._

Harriet looked up from where her gaze had drifted to the floor, avoiding Millicent's fearful stare. She blinked at the worried looking Vincent and the uneasy Gregory. Her mind felt like it was chewing gum being pulled out thin, felt like a flycatcher only she was catching thoughts and stories and memories.

Gregory was distraught. The sight of everyone gathered around her reminded him of when his mother had passed, cancer taking over. In a blink, Draco had vanished for the sight of Gregory's father, a large blundering man who'd bent double, large hands cupping a face of tears. The reedy eyed boy clenched his fingers into fists, jaw quivering past his fear.

His fear hit hard, Harriet scrambling to stand. Around her Theo and Draco reached out to catch her if need be. They went ignored, her own senses swam with Gregory's emotion; she felt fingernails dig into palms that weren't hers, teeth gritted against teeth in a mouth she didn't own, memories ran through a mind that she'd invaded.

There was an urge to sooth; a need to do something about this pain that _she _was feeling. So she reached out. But not physically — mentally.

It wasn't even on purpose, she just _thought about it._

_It's alright,_ she murmured without moving, mind trained on Gregory. Bleakly, she was aware of the others shifting around her, could see them from Goyle's perspective but currently their actions were less than important. _No-one's dying._

_What-?_ Gregory gasped, physically taking a step back as his mind churned circles. Apparently the mind had a natural defense against unwanted things and that was to shut down.

Harriet grasped onto a thread of Gregory's consciousness and tugged before he could go so far as to be immobile.

_I don't mean to hurt, Gregory._ _I'm sorry, this magic is new to me I didn't mean to—_

_It's alright, _he interrupted her, gruff on the outside while he internally wept and clawed towards her golden presence. Harriet felt him accept her; her vision changing to a spinning orb approaching a small blue marble. The orb looked like woven string all curled together, a sparkling golden light emitting from it as it approached the small marble, shivering with shadows in its core. Without a second thought, Harriet knew the orb was her even as it curled around the marble.

_I'm not afraid of you, Potter._

The marble rocked in place as the orb lent out a shimmering tendril. When no resistance came, the tendril wrapped around the marble, the silvery pointed tip delving into the shadowed hull of Gregory's being. Harriet felt something cling to her, knew it would be dangerous if she accepted it, so she curled her tendril around it, tugged it our of a gasping Gregory and forced it to materialise in her curled palm.

She opened her eyes to see a writhing mass of black shadows tossing in the confines of her fist. With anger flooding her, she crushed it, a sharp red flame spouting from the thing as it silently vanished.

Gregory's hand appeared in her peripheral, stretched out waiting for a shake. "It's good to have you on our side, Harriet."

She smirked, everyone's minds spluttering feedback that she absorbed in the quiet. "It feels good to be here, Gregory."

_Just Greg._

"Of course, Greg," she appeased. She pulled herself back to steady her physical form and nodded to the worried, confused faces staring at her. "I know what the sigil sealed."

She said and explained.


	6. Fear is Power

-/-/-

Chapter 6: _Fear is Power_

-/-/-

The bath water swayed for her, pushing back under a soft mental prod. Harriet hummed in the silence, silvery bubbles rising to pop in the cool air above the bath. She and the other girls had ended up back in their dorm room by midnight, after Theo had gently suggested they should get some sleep. Harriet had grown restless standing around in the dorm, watching as Pansy brushed through Millicent's hair, so she'd excused herself and disappeared into the large ensuite bathroom to draw herself that promised bath.

In front of her, the long billowy curtianed window gleamed a green light onto her skin, nothing swimming past the window no matter how long she stared. The dungeons were the lowest point of the school, far past sea level to the point that it was warmer down here than up in the Gryff's common room. It certainly made bathing easier, as it meant they didn't have to worry about getting colds from running about with wet hair. It also gave them a splendid view of the lake, which was a mere moat around the school.

Her new abilites bordered on fear-inducing. Blaise had found them more interesting than anything, thoughts of his ambitious deceased mother running through his mind as he wondered the possibilities; Theo had thought they'd been good for fooling people and fishing out the liars and had openly stated this, grin wide; Draco, on the other hand, had been a tad apprehensive about them once she'd explained but Harriet had managed to _persuade _him that his father didn't need to hear about this; Gregory, of course, had been fine with it, having nothing to hide aside from things she'd already known; Vincent had asked her what her mindscape looked like and she'd promised him answers at a later date, flashes of acrylic paints soaring through his head, clogging his nose; Pansy had been a tad wary before they'd been explained but she'd calmed at Harriet's insistence that she was only skimming surface thoughts (which she wasn't but what did they need to know — that she knew of Blaise's mother's assassination or that she knew of Pansy's father's fabricated excuses to keep the bank goblins off his family's back); Millicent hadn't quite cared, thoughts of flowers and memories of running through a pond keeping her sedate.

All in all, the reception was a good one, having ended in the pureblooded children removing the Ministry of Magic's Trace spell (with a significant ease) as was the norm for their families. Harriet was sure she'd feel betrayed at having her thoughts read but then the kids had let slip Snape was a limited mind reader of sorts — either an occlumens or a legimens — and revealed that most of their thoughts, in his concentrated presence, were most definitely heard.

She didn't know how to feel at that; at the fact that she'd have to shield her thoughts from a man close to the _light _that was Albus Dumbledore.

And then they'd said that Dumbledore most likely _definitely_ knew one of the two mind arts, adding another onto the list to keep her thoughts quiet when around.

But there was an issue there. Snape and Dumbledore would be in the great hall at meal times, as was common. Maybe there would be too many people to narrow her down but _narrow her down _they would, with the plans she had now that a few doors had been opened.

Plans along the lines of Sirius' freedom, his name and honour being restored, and maybe picking up a few hints on why everyone was so uppity about her being the Girl Who Lived with big capitals. She'd also like to dig into Voldemort and she'd start that by finding this Basilisk.

"Harriet," Pansy's voice filtered through the thick mahogany door that guarded the bathroom. "We're going to bed now!"

"Alright," she called back. "Sleep well."

"Goodnight!" Millicent chirped, all sing-song and not a hint of any negative emotion. She was very much an enigma to Harriet; all luscious fields of broad green grasses, spreading for miles, and singing birds that swooped down to settle on fingers, all different colours of the rainbow. Harriet was unsure how she could be so happy, how someone so out of sync with the world around her could be still so in-tune that she could interact without too much of a noticeable difference. It mattered little: Harriet would protect the girl who smiled at sunsets. She'd protect little Milly — the girl who _needed _protection.

But didn't they all need protection? Milly from the world; Draco from his father; Pansy from troubles; Blaise from murderers; Theo from curses; Gregory from cancer; Vincent from the darker aspects of life, things he couldn't paint.

Fifteen minutes later she climbed out of the bath and towelled herself down. The lukewarm water vanished silently, thanks to the bath's magic. Harriet brushed her teeth with the toiletries she'd previously brought in, leaving them neatly lined up against the edge of the marble counter. The mirror above the sink shone at her and she stared back, taking in ominous green eyes and a gaudy scar that no-one had mentioned.

_Teach me a removal spell, _she hoped. The mirror documented the rise of her fingers to trace the scar, broadcasting the tired expression on her face as the thing remained to be real. Suddenly she was hit with a sense of urgency and instinctively flexed out her mind to find the origin.

There was nothing. Most students were asleep, the ones that weren't reading or playing card games. Flint's dorm mates were annoyed at his snoring and Avery's friends were confused at how he was pulling so much out of his suitcase, all food related. Harriet allowed herself a quiet chuckle, knowing Pansy and Millicent were asleep, and mentally stumbled at a roadblock.

It was a ghost.

Harriet shivered, fingers dropping to clutch at the porcelain sink bowl with unknown might. The ghost turned in her mental direction and screamed, broadcasting horrible flashing images — _a gloomy corridor, a pendulum, a boy with a cruel glint in his eyes, "this must be done, my horcruxes will be made" _— and all of a sudden, Harriet knew what her scar was.

She expanded her reach, sweeping over the entire school with effort. Once there, she hovered, mentally squirming. She decided to pick an easy mind, dipping down into a well of spells and memories.

Flitwick knew more than most gave him credit for. The ghost's memories told her how to destroy a horcrux, for the boy had been curious in life, and Flictwick's knowledge told her just the spell to do it.

Harriet steeled herself, sucking in a deep breath. Voldemort had a way to come back if she stayed alive, if the horcrux in her remained the way it was. It also meant when he returned he'd see what see seen — the mental link would be unbreakable and something she'd picked up along the way told her she'd be exhausted all too soon at trying to keep Voldemort out, a literal master of the mind arts.

Riddle would rise and kill her with the bounce back now that she'd uncovered her magic. Harriet had too much to live for to risk that.

She weighed her options before settling on her _only _option.

Harriet threw up a silencing spell she'd stolen from Draco before lying down on a fluffy rug that mirrored the one out in the common room by the fireplace. She settled into it, hands feeling brittle as they skimmed over the fluffy strands. Taking a deep breath she steadied her will and channelled her power in her hands.

Her fingertips burned. The hair on her arms and back spiked. Her lung howled. Her mind shook.

Harriet summoned the magic to her index finger — a fine point of glowing, immeasurable power. She pressed it into her chest, hoping this worked. She'd better wake up before the morning, or else she'd have to make up some excuse she'd fainted or something.

Focusing on the horcrux: "Avada Kedavra!"

-/-/-

She woke with a jerk, limbs shaking with the pain of death. Her mind felt emptier now, but with the whispers of the castle's residents thoughts squirreling away behind closed doors she knew her magic was not gone. She felt different, lighter in a way that she'd never been.

The horcrux was gone; she knew this before she'd pulled herself to her feet and blinked at her scar-less form. It was an odd sight but barely noticeable, seeing how her hair curled over that exact spot. Standing there, feeling very much like that time she'd been high on a cocktail of drugs after her accident, Harriet let her smile grow until it couldn't anymore and gave into the insufferable urge to laugh.

About a minute in, her laughter turned to wails. The tears wouldn't stop and her knees shook with pain that wouldn't cease despite how her tears had long stopped as memories that weren't hers assaulted her. _Doctors whispering behind the door. _They were Gregory's — _"please wake up", __father hunched over mother's frail frame, "she's dying, son, she's not coming back"._ Harriet choked up bile and started crying again.

Half an hour later she'd stopped crying and had used some healing spell to make the puffiness of her eyes go away. Delving into Flitwick's vast sea of wisdom had switched a flick in her own brain, making it seem as if she'd been doing magic for eons. She could imagine the mental bookshelves now, each book filling with people's information, some thicker than others. There would be an entire array for Flitwick's spells, a darker recess for the nastier dark ones that would be frowned upon if she showed knowledge of.

Harriet imagined her mindscape as a mansion, large and bold against bright surroundings. Wolves howled in the distance, heard within the castle's walls. High up on one of the cornices she would stand, overseeing all.

The library would be at the heart, protected and warded against all. In the walls her thoughts would flow, the different layers of the human mind accumulating in the large being that was the castle. The first wall was her surface thoughts which she could control, along with the other two layers of ideas and thought trails. Internally there were about fifty more walls, each one more complex than the other. Harriet knew primally that if her innermost wall — a mere five bricks tall, in the very centre of her library — were to fall, she'd capsize like that boat on the lake. If that wall fell she'd go insane.

Harriet vowed to never go that far.

She closed her eyes and in that moment she saw a gilled creature grin at her from the window, a clawed hand rising to tap the glass. Enchantments shattered and the room flooded.

Harriet opened her eyes and whirled to stare at the creature. It blinked at her, eyelids substituted for thin see-through strips of skin. The creature's gills flexed with each breath, ominous grey skin verging on black in the dim hollow of the lake. A moment passed where it simply floated there, black pupilless eyes searing into her skin, before it blinked and the thin line that was its mouth stretched out into a horrific sharp-toothed grin. It raised a clawed hand and reached towards the window.

_No, _she thundered, fear and horror overflowing to tumult in her mind. She pushed out, staring the grindylow in the eye. _Go away!_

The lake seized around the grindylow, rushing back to create a pressure unbearable against the water-dweller's skin. She heard its shriek, even if no-one else did. Harriet twisted the water, forcing it away; the grindylow retreated, echoing distress.

It felt as if the earth had crashed down onto her shoulders when she sucked in a wheezed breath. Everying seemed too bright — even if things were dimmed in the lair of the snakes. Harriet steeled herself, remarked at what good luck that tomorrow (technically, _today_) was a saturday and lowered her silencing spell.

When Harriet Potter finally got into her bed, it was five past three in the morning.


	7. Revelations

-/-/-

Chapter 7: _Revelations_

-/-/-

Millicent woke her at seven, happily unaware of just what sort of night Harriet had had. Thankfully, Pansy seemed in no fit state to talk much — evidently not a morning person — and mostly left her up to herself until it came time that they went to the great hall for breakfast.

Weekends required no strict dresscode, for saturdays and sundays had been left over for days of rest; worshippers of Merlin feasted for their achievements on the first day and trained in the mind on the sunday, which Harriet thought was ironic. Of course, this new knowledge came from Theo when they all met up in the common room before proceeding on to the hall. Harriet found herself marvelling at how their minds worked: Theo's quick and sudden, always thinking of something new; Blaise's calm and controlled, thinking all measures through from every angle; Vincent's ever analyzing, eyes keen for colour and tonal depth. They were only a few but by far the most interesting of the group.

Snape would be down at ten to talk to the first years, later than he normally would, according to the older one's murmurs. Harriet had glimpsed into the Bloody Baron's ever changing, very odd portrait mind and had been able to discern that Snape had been held back by the frail old coot Dumbledore.

The great hall was no different in the morning than it had been the night before, easily found thanks to Thawyer and Vaisey being more than happy to set a bumbling pace as they walked towards it. Harriet could've found the hall herself by following the clamour of minds but she'd been more than happy to relinquish the reins on the directions to allow herself to dip into every mind they passed. Blaise was more than happy to steer her in the right direction whenever she wavered, doing so with an amusement she found contagious.

The Snake's table was lined with platters of food, ranging from sausages to cereals. Bowls and plates were at the placemats, goblets empty in choice of pumpkin juice or water. Some of the older students were allowed butterbeer but most had opted out — Mulicber's disgusted _too sweet, too fake_ explaining it adequately enough.

Now that there was no need to sit segregated by years they'd ended up in the middle of the table, surrounded by Vaisey and Thawyer's banter and Carross and Avery's gossiping. Draco was more than happy to indulge in the gossip, being a prime source material seeing _who_ he was, like most of them. Harriet had ended up beside Vincent, describing to him what he wanted to hear.

"Swirls of colour," he asked, sounding dreamy. He was bursting with ideas for paintings. "Were they negatives or positives?"

His mind begged for positives _so many more options_ so she delivered. "Bright, glimmering things; like a rainbow but not. There was a library underneath it all, enshrined in old leafy vines that wrapped over everything in sight."

It felt as if a _bomb_ of inspiration had hit her in the jaw. Vincent was beaming. "Anything else?"

His statement was echoing visions of knights in shining armour, gemstones buried in the ground holding enchantments, pillars of marble holding the most important information. Harriet liked what she saw and, in her own mental space, envisioned an army of controlled knight's armour guarding her castle; defensive measures in the form of gems embedded into pillars that acted like machine guns, ready to appear from thin air and discharge a considerable amount of raw _painful_ magic at whoever dared trespass.

"I'll leave it to you," his excitement kicked up a notch. "I'd love to see the finished version." Even if she could see the half-baked thing in his head right this moment.

"Assured," Vincent nodded.

Their conversation faded out as they ate, listening to the others. Harriet munched on her jam and cream slathered toast as she nursed a goblet of water by her hand. Beside her, Pansy perked up, gleefully integrating herself into a conversation about fashion and hairstyles. Somewhere along the table mudbloods were being discussed, a few second years casually debating whether or not it was worth it to get a Muggle job with the current transaction rates between Muggle money and the standard galleon. The rates were shockingly good, almost good enough to make one wonder why there even were poor wizarding families.

"Nah, Oliver Snide'll win," Avery was saying, providing his metabolism with a challenge to keep his lean figure as he shovelled down just about everything within reach. It didn't escape Harriet's notice how most of the people around him had shuffled their plates a little closer to themselves in a bid to actually keep their food. "Isn't the Triwizard Tournament happening this year?"

"Yeah," Flint affirmed. "Heard Dumble-twit nearly had kittens after being rejected for his placement."

"What does he think he's doing?" Mulciber broke out of her conversation to scowl. "This is a school, not an arena."

"I agree," Tracy nodded, hair swept back in a firm dutch plait. "Where are they being held?"

"Indonesia," Marrow replied. "They're being held in the old Muggle stadium since they couldn't find anywhere big enough for the Greenhorn they wanted. Not that they got permission in the end."

"Fools," Thawyer snickered. "I don't see the point in fighting for life or death when there is no reward."

"We've got a true Slytherin here, ladies and gentlemen!" Avery cackled, drowning his pumpkin juice quicker than a shot. "Who needs a noticeboard of rules when you have Allie?"

"Evidently, _you_." Thawyer rolled his eyes, perfectly happy with the nickname. His prefect badge lit up at the same time Carross' did, shimmering a golden yellow. Both he and Carross froze, eyes darting up to quickly examine the table of teachers. "Merlin's beard," he groaned, dread flooding in. Carross groaned at the same time. "_Pince._"

The table erupted in snickers.

"Unlucky," managed Vaisey, barely able to stop biting his fist for more than a second before he started laughing. "I wonder what it'll be: cleaning the library or reorganizing the bookshelves?"

"In chronological and alphabetical order," Gaunt added, more than happy to add to Vaisey's fire. A spark flickered between the two, one that had Harriet enraptured as it circled the two, pulling them close. They were in love, she realised with a blink as Vaisey tipped into Gaunt's side with a grin.

"Be happy it isn't Trelawney," someone muttered. The table fell silent. Harriet pried and found a woman who whispered constantly about a prophesy and of tea leaves and their warnings. A cloud of gloom hovered over her.

"Ugh, I hate her."

"I know! You'd think she'd get bored of making us drink tea?"

The prefect badges pulsed again and this time three others from the other tables rose and began their weary march towards the library. The rest of them followed a few seconds later. Carross and Thawyer shared a morose glance before departing to follow.

"Bummer they're missing out on the talk," Vaisey said, slowly picking at a bit of toast. He was thinking about curling up in his (illegal) animagus form at the fire place as Gaunt petted his fur. He was a metamorph-feline; the only magical cat breed that was distinctly dangerous, even if miraculously tamed. With silver eyes and a coat that could change colour at will the cat was considered _very _rare. Harriet mulled over the mental image, eager to see it in person.

"They'll get over it," Flint shrugged. The Gryffindor table started making a clamour, voices rising. Harriet turned to see two identical mops of red hair flounce through the large doors, leaving a certain Ron Weasley looking like he'd been out in the sun a little too long. "The Weasley twins are at it again."

"They should've been sorted to us," someone said. There was a silent assent all around the table. Harriet glanced at the double doors at the end of the hall and silently mused that those boys may be of use.

-/-/-

At exactly ten am, on the dot, Severus Snape entered the Slytherin common room.

The older students all stepped out of his way, the room reeking of respect. Snape approached the first years and motioned for them all to gather around. They made a small huddle, Harriet realised, there being only eight of them.

Snape's frown said he was thinking the same thing. Harriet didn't know what he was thinking.

"It continues to amaze me," he said. "How each year, despite there always being one hundred new students, the numbers we receive are lessened."

"Must be our dazzling good looks, Professor." Vaisey joked from his position on the couch, draped over Gaunt's lap. "Our standards are too high."

Harriet almost expected Snape to snap at the boy for being rude, for speaking when not spoken to, but Snape merely tilted his head like he'd taken Vaisey's words into consideration.

"Quite possibly," he said, a hint of sarcasm lilting his tone away from cold irony towards soft fondness. "Where are Thawyer and Carross? I expected at least one of my prefects to be here."

"Pince dragged 'em off, sir." Flint explained.

"Probably to organise her library," Tracy added, gaze primed on her nails. An enchanted nail polish brush hovered above her hand, eager for her to charm on a colour.

Snape did not look pleased at the fact the librarian had stolen his two prefects. "I see. Very well then. First years, listen up. You've been accepted into a house which demands you hold face outside of these walls. Bullying is common and if any of you face so much as name-calling, you _will _report it to me — you'll find they tire of it after losing a few hundred points. In this house we look out for each other, we're a united front, any squabbles will be held inside the common room or outside of the student body's eye. If anyone outside of Slytherin so much as sees you, you may expect a month's worth of detention, otherwise you can expect to be replacing any damages depending on severity."

Draco was bouncing beside her, definitely envisioning a showdown with Weasley. Snape continued, "In no way or form am I encouraging fights, only enforcing a strengthened front. I do not enjoy pulling apart fights but you're going through a testing time where I can understand the need for thrown punches, should there be a logical reason. You will not go around picking fights, especially with other houses. If any of you need a refresh on the rules you may find them on the noticeboard."

He turned to address the room at large. "Your schedules will be handed out at lunch, I expect to see you all there. No stragglers."

In the silence of acceptance, he turned back to them. Harriet caught his eye for a brief second, finding the darkness of them odd. Snape was quick to look away. "Any questions?"

Draco raised his hand. "What if someone from the other house starts a fight?" He asked, all innocence.

"Fight back but make sure none of the other teachers see and there is at least three other Slytherins with you." Snape smirked, a cruel fond thing. Harriet munched at his barriers and found his love for his house overwhelming. He blinked and looked at her.

_Can we talk?_ She projected.

"Anyone else?" Snape blew out a shallow breath. _You can hear me?_

_Yes. _She asked, "What's the curfew? Ground limitations?"

"Curfew is half nine on school nights, ten on the weekends. Ground limitations go as far as to the surrounding lake, where you can't go further without boat, but for practicality we don't go further than the border walls. I advise staying away from the weeping willow, which is on grounds in the courtyard." _You're good if you can uphold two conversations. How long have you been able to do this?_

_Since last night._

Snape gestured. "Dismissed. Potter, I need to talk with you."

"Of course." He strode towards the wall and tapped a brick, allowing a section of the wall to slide back to reveal a damply lit office. He strode in, Harriet following, and the door shut.

A black desk sat by the far wall, piled high with paperwork and books. There were no windows, just a portrait frame for the Bloody Baron and many, many bookcases. On a few shelves sat potions, rolled and stacked in columned test tubes that were corked. Harriet spared a quick glance around before stilling. Snape clicked his fingers and two couches appeared in the space in the centre of the office. The couches faced each other, a coffee table separaring them.

"Would you like anything to drink?" He quiered, _has her mother's eyes_ —_Lily__— b_etrayal— death— I'm sorry. "I'm well aware how bad that pumpkin juice tastes. I was forced to drink it through fear of dehydration."

"I'm alright," she assured. "You were the one to vie for water."

It wasn't a question, he'd shown her the memory seconds after he'd made his joke. She decided to cut to the chase, showing him the memories of last night, of everything from the sigil to the grindylow. She pushed them at him, prying open his shields to deliver.

He froze. In the time he took to process the entire five hours worth of memories, Harriet analysed him. Where she'd expected a greasy man — going off Sirius' _greasy git _— she found the slim man from the apothecary who'd recommended her that very good read — and read it she had!

Snape was tall and thin, gaunt face bordering on shadowed. His long shoulder-length hair was easily tugged back in a loose bun, a sight privvy to only his snakes. Even on a saturday he wore his long black teaching robes, each silver button pushed through well-worn gaps. His black trousers made his legs look stick-like, almost nothing when compared to his long black dress shoes. He was certainly a man of appearances.

Deciding to use his distraction to her advantage, Harriet gently dived into his mind. She tried to minimise the ripples of her entrance, scoping out the area. Snape was a sad, broken man, holding onto sanity by a feather. He'd loved her mother, Lily, had been bullied by her father, James, and had clashed with Sirius and nearly killed accidentally by Remus. School hadn't been easy for him, the Slytherins coming up behind him in a way that no-one else had; partly reasoning for why he wanted his snakes to be so resolute. He'd seen the force a united-on-all-fronts Slytherin had and he yearned for that once more.

Severus Snape was the Half Blood Prince. Harriet dipped a little closer to that memory and absorbed the knowledge that was his journal. He was a genuis, completely understated by Dumble-twit. Harriet almost felt sorry for him as she examined the fear he and so many others felt at Voldemort — nothing but a ghoul with no nose or hair.

"Are you quite done?" He asked.

"Apologies," she lilted her head. Snape appeared apprehensive.

_Do you know how you got these powers?_ He raised an eyebrow.

_No,_ she shook her head and was met with a proposed idea:

Lily had pulled off an ancient sacrificial spell that required complete devotion and love to pull off. It was an old protection spell that required its caster to give their life — one reason why many refused to use it — and one which often had unknown after-effecrs on the person it had been cast upon. The sigil, Snape theorized, was either done by her own magic hoping to protect her fragile young body (letting it appear once she was surrounded by magic) or else Dumbledore had done something (that had fallen through at the interaction of magic).

_Old magic?_

_Ancient magic,_ Snape gently corrected. _Lily must've cast the spell knowing full well it would protect you. It would've worked because Ancient magic is unbreakable by our standards and her situation — complete love and devotion — would've allowed her to successfully cast it. She'd probably hoped Potter was still alive, or that Black would take you in._

_But Sirius was framed and my father dead._

Surprise filtered over their link. _How did you—?_

She sent him the memories. Snape blinked, _Interesting. You do realise Dumbledore is having kittens over you being a girl?_

_Pardon?_

_He believes the prophesy is nulled now and is trying to find someone that can fulfill it._ He sent her the details.

_So, hypothetically, if Voldemort were to return he wouldn't try to kill me?_

Snape shivered at his name. Fear lanced up and hit her like a shockwave before he could restrain it. _I'm unsure. He held grudges, to find that you survived and he did not... well, if he returned he wouldn't take it well._

_He will return._ She could feel it. She knew.

Snape said nothing.

_Trelawney seen this prophesy,_ she mentioned. _Earlier everyone was talking about how crazy she is. If all she talks about is death omens in tea leaves why has her prophesy been taken seriously? Aren't you all simply fuelling her delusions?_

_Dumbledore believed her. _Snape shrugged._ I'm not there to see the old fool's thoughts, his shields are far stronger than mine, but he seemed excited from the very start at the realisation that there was a 'Chosen One'._

_He likes being manipulative. _Harriet scowled. She flicked through Severus' memories. _He's manipulated you._

_Yes__, _Snape sighed.

Harriet frowned. _One last thing._

_Continue._

_Where is the Chamber of Secrets?_

Memories of McGonagall whispering of petrified children, Hagrid's spider doing it but not, the third floor girl's bathrooms, Moaning Myrtle wailing about her death — talking about a snake and not a spider before Dumbledore had swept in and the girl had suddenly been saying _yes, yes, a spider!_

Harriet felt queasy.

_What do you intend to do with this information?_

_I intend to take my place as heir, _she sent him bits and pieces of her conversations with Talon — who'd shown up in her bed this morning, the lazy bum. _Is there anything I should know before going dowm there?_

_The Basilisk is over a hundred years old,_ Snape warned. _She'll be insane. If worst comes to it, a rooster's crow can kill it. Staring it in the eye will kill anyone, seeing its reflection will petrify you._

_Is there a way to undo the petrification?_

_Not unless you kill it._

"Thank you," she said, standing up. Snape stood too and offered her a hand. "I'm glad my mother's memory lives on in someone's heart."

He sucked in an unsure breath as she shook his hand. He didn't speak.

_Teach me to shield my mind?_ She smiled.

He nodded. "I'll see you tomorrow, after dinner. Be in the common room by seven."

_Thank you. _She turned to leave, door whirling open.

_No,_ Snape said. _Thank you._ _I'll get Hagrid onto that grindylow — that shouldn't have happened._

_Blame Neville Longbottom,_ she waved. _He capsized the boat, probably annoyed them._


	8. The Devil's Lair

-/-/-

Chapter 8: _The Devil's Lair is Much Less Dangerous_

-/-/-

Curious stares followed her as she stepped out from Snape's office. Stares though, were easily ignored, so ignore them Harriet did. She rejoined her fellow first years and quietly suggested they go explore.

Pansy hesitated, halfway through plaiting Millicent's hair. The latter was sitting on the floor, legs crossed as she fiddled with a flower she'd procured from somewhere. "I'm not sure, lunch is soon. Should we not wait?"

"It's fifteen past ten," Blaise said. "Lunch is over an hour away. I'm sure we could scope out a few floors."

"Yeah," Theo nodded, grinning vigourously. "I vote 'agree'. Let's go!"

Draco was unsure, images of his father beating him when he showed up late to the table playing in his mind. Harriet clasped the wrist closest to her. He looked up, eyes a wavering mix between resolute and unsure.

_It's alright,_ she soothed, projecting into his mind so he could hear her. _Your father isn't here._

_But Sev-- _Draco whispered.

_He won't tell,_ she promised. She knew, even from their short meeting, that Severus Snape would not turn cute little Draco in to his father. Snape was too soft for that. _He likes you too much. _

_But__\--_

_You have my word, Draco. If we get in trouble I'll take responsibility as it is due._

"Alright," he nodded but they both knew he wasn't afraid of taking the blame; Lucius Malfoy was a terrifying man when opposed, a mere teacher was nothing in comparison. He turned his head towards Crabbe and Goyle, both of whom confirmed in the positive.

"Moral dillema over, Parkinson?" Harriet chimed, subtly pushing Pansy's consciousness towards calm.

"I suppose," the girl harrumped, nose turning up as she looked away, huffing. She finished Millicent's plait with a deft flick of her fingers, laying the finished product onto her back.

"Your hair is beautiful, Millicent," Harriet smiled, offering the girl a hand. A mental prod later, Millicent was taking her hand, beaming with the intensity of the sun. "Would you like to go exploring before lunch?"

Millicent hummed for a moment before answering. "Sounds fun!"

"It will be," Harriet assured, already tugging the group out of the common room. The older ones' amusement followed them like a shawl as they left.

-/-/-

"When you said exploring," Theo wavered, boot tapping out a hectic rhythm on the chipped stone floor. "I thought you meant checking out old passageways and corridors. Not _bathrooms_."

"A female one, too," Blaise sighed, arms folded over his pressed shirt. Cloaks were a necessity around the castle so they'd simply shrugged them on over their clothes, a plus being that the garments were easily buttoned up for when it came to lunch.

"Come on," Millicent urged, grasping Theo's hand to tug him forward. She radiated excitement. "I want to talk to Myrtle!"

Harriet's gaze slid off the door lock Goyle was inspecting. Millicent was bouncing around like she hadn't just said anything weird but the confusion stirred in her chest. How did she know about Moaning Myrtle?

"Who?" Draco echoed. Harriet tried to dip into the younger girl's mind but found herself being drowned by petals and buzzing bees in their hives. Golden honey dripped around her, Millicent more than happy to smile as she tended to a tree's apples. Harriet backed out before she fell too deep, blinking to reorientate herself.

Millicent didn't respond as the door finally opened, centuries old lock giving way under a well placed spell. The door wooshed open, spewing over a decade's worth of dust out into the lonely corridor. Harriet edged back, pulling her cloak's billowing sleeve up to her mouth even as Millicent flounced on in.

"She does realise dust can be dangerous?" Blaise remarked, following in after Bulstrode nonetheless. Harriet spared the hesitant ones a _look _(really a mix between a glare and a beckoning smile, eyebrow raise included when required for extra pressure times) before entering the old bathrooms herself.

Dust made it seem dull, the old marble countertops coated in more than a few layers of the stuff. The heavy, white air swirled, disturbed by their sudden appearance. It seemed as if no-one had been in here in years, the locked door adding to the assumption. At the far end of the room sat six toilet stalls, each three sitting opposite each other. All of the doors except for the right hand middle stall were opened.

After a few quiet moments, Draco and Pansy decided to enter, Crabbe and Goyle following up the rear. Harriet motioned and the door swung shut behind them, enjoying her friend's harried jumps. They didn't need any wandering souls to come across what they were doing, even if they were in one of the more remote areas.

"What now?" Theo asked, a tad apprehensive. The bathroom was ominous, a presence inside pressing down and making breathing hard. If the isolated location hadn't assured Harriet she was in the right place, this feeling was a definite assurance.

"Myrtle, we know you're here," Harriet called, gesturing for her motley crew to keep silent. "Please come out. We'd like to talk."

"What do you want?" A ghostly head appeared over the top of the stall dividers. She looked young, once brown hair still pulled up in pigtails, large oval glasses perched on a stubby nose that had certainly been broken at least once. She clutched her waist as she floated up, forever stuck in a teenager's body no matter how far her mind aged. And of course, pertaining to her namesake, the words were moaned.

"We want to help you," Harriet answered truthfully. Already she could hear the girl's jumbled memories bouncing about, a confusing swirl of _fear-creature-nothing._ It was hard to listen to, difficult not to absorb but she'd stolen a few techniques for blocking things out from Snape — which she suspected he'd purposefully left out in the open for her.

One deep breath. Center yourself, feel your mind. Remain calm. Breathe.

In.

"In exchange for what?" The ghost asked, eyeing their green-bellied cloaks. Her distrust was evident and would've been comedic had it not currently have been a hinder.

Out.

Remain calm.

"I'll fix your memories, let you move on." The girl froze, her very being shimmering as Myrtle debated on whether or not she was lying. Around her, her Slytherins were watching with a fair amount interest, fair amount skepticism. "I have nothing to gain from a double cross, Myrtle. I'll help you."

"Why are you here?"

Harriet offered a smile that she knew had people opening up; a soft turn of the lips that barriers falling, made her seem reliable, made people feel like they could relate to her and she with them. "I believe you know the location of a very important place."

She was answered with a jumble of confused skittered memories. _A glowing yellow eye, slitted unlike any spider's she'd ever seen__ — because it was no spider.__ Myrtle couldn't remember what it was though, not since the Headmaster had spoken to her in that soft voice, blue eyes twinkling.__ She liked the Headmaster because he was nice. He had nice eyes._

"Where, the Headmaster's office?" Myrtle shifted. Pansy — radiating unease — tugged Millicent towards her, cupping the younger's hand when the brunette looked at her with a nonplussed expression. Millicent was thinking about honey bears and the oddity of it nearly made Harriet laugh.

"We both know everyone knows where that is," she held her ground as the girl floated through the remaining stall, coming down to her height to float a few feet away from her. In the corner, Blaise watched with sharp eyes, fingers inches towards his wand. Behind her, she knew Draco was the same. Theo was more interested in poking at the ancient fountain in the centre of the room.

Myrtle stared at her, gaze narrowing as she evaluated her situation. "No," she declared. "No, I won't help you."

"Why not?" She asked, managing to seem genuinely disappointed. If the ghost didn't help she could always banish her and rummage through the bathrooms until she found what she was looking for. But it was quicker this way and she would get rid of Myrtle without a fuss. If the ghost continued to resist she'd waste time and Harriet would be forced to take drastic measures.

Remain calm. Breathe in, hold. Breathe out.

"You're a snake," the ghost snarled. "I don't help _things _like you!"

Harriet frowned, _wrong answer _someone's mind gurgled. She jerked her head, an idea coming to her. The smile spread over her face, allowed to grow until it took on a sharp cold edge. Myrtle shifted back.

"That's alright," she continued. "I've already found it."

"No," Myrtle whispered, tone and face horrified. She swept back like a string gust of wind had collided with her, body flailing. Her eyes darted to the right of Harriet, towards the sinks. "No! The Chamber of Secrets is secret for a reason! You mustn't enter it! You can't!"

"Oh?" Harriet tempted. She took a step forward, leading on Myrtle as the ghost retreated back. "You're so sure. Too bad snakes don't abide by the rules."

Blaise whispered amusement.

Myrtle fled to the first stall, peeking over it like it would offer her some form of protection. Harriet hadn't wanted to scare the girl but sometimes people — and ghosts — needed a little push. Someone would think she had pushed the girl a little too far, as the laughter began, but Harriet had pushed her buttons the exact way she'd wanted.

"You'll never get in, anyway," cackled the ghost, grin relieved. "None of you speak that snake tongue so how could you get the tap to work?"

"It's called parseltongue, dear," she chastised. Myrtle's laughter ceased. Her eyes shot wide.

_"Open,"_ Harriet hissed. The sink rumbled, nearly loud enough to drown out the ghost girl's horrified shrieks. Harriet sent a mental slap that had the ghost dropping to the floor, lying inanimate. Theo gave a shout of surprise as the stone underneath him rumbled and he was forced to step back as an area of floor, six by three, sunk. The stone quivered before vanishing, popping out of existence so quickly it reminded someone of a house elf.

A minute later the rumbling had subsided, the ground a gaping pit where the fountain had once been. Draco let out a breath of air that echoed in the deafening silence.

"There's a birdie in the mirror," Millicent noted chirpily, toting out of Pansy's stunned grasp. Harriet looked up so quick she nearly gave herself whiplash, frowning as the odd eagle replica flexed its wings at them, looking as if it was embedded in the smogged glass of the cracked mirror above the sinks. It cawed silently at them, beak wobbling and eyes narrowing as its wings flapped. Millicent toddled towards it, hand outstretched. "Pretty birdie!"

"Millicent, don't!" Harriet jerked, stepping towards her before the youngest could touch the squawking mirror-bird. She miscalculated, the stone underneath her giving way as any hundred year old stone should be expected to do so. Mid-call, Harriet fell into the black tumbling hole that was the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.

Her friends screamed after her, all of them lunging towards her. Except one.

-/-/-

Cold hands prodded at her neck, trailing a path of chilled skin where they touched. "Potter," called a familiar voice, her name sounding more like a certain someone's customary _'Pott-ah'._ Harriet smiled at the name.

"Merlin's beard, is she grinning? She is! Great, she's lost the plot." Another voice joined as two pale blobs hovered over her.

"Millicent!" Pansy's voice rung out. "Are you there?"

The lack of response was more than enough to jolt Harriet out of her daze. She blinked, sucking in a breath that caught in her throat and sat up.

"Woah, easy," Draco's hands clutched at her shoulders, offering support. "You took quite the fall."

"And the hit," Theo added, sounded ruffled. From the proximity of his voice, he was in front of her. The mental murmurings showed Zabini in the corner, overanalyzing as usual, and placed Crabbe and Goyle to her left, the latter helping the former up.

Harriet blinked again, clearing her vision.

They'd fallen in some arena themed area, the same black stone floor here as there was everywhere. Six pillars were around the room, either supporting the walls or for whatever dark aesthetic the creator had been going for. On each pillar curled a snake, frozen in place, carved into the stone in great detail. The opening they'd fallen through seemed so far away, towering far above — represented by nothing more than a dim crease of light.

"Is everyone okay?" She asked, voice low. Her mind swept out in the arena, searching for any sign of life. There was nothing, not even a cockroach.

"Yeah," Draco affirmed. "We're all here except for--"

"Except for Millicent!" Pansy interrupted. Panic flowed off her in waves, temporarily distracting Harriet from her scans. She wasn't sure but this place _felt _weird. Something was wrong. "We have to get back up to her before she hurts herself!"

"No, it may be safer up there than down here. Millicent's fine for now." Harriet dismissed the panic. Blaise turned from where he'd been summoning a _lumos_, a glowing orb on the end of his wand. It was dark, Harriet realised just then, very dark but now with the light she could see Pansy's fretful face, Blaise's risen eyebrow and the blood dried on the ground.

She startled, mentally asking for another lumos. Crabbe stepped in, wand drawn.

There were words on the ground, chalked with dust and grime but noticably dried blood. Harriet would recognise blood anywhere; it seemed the children of Death Eaters did too.

"What's that doing here?" Theo asked, tone hinging on hysterical. He was nervous and out of his comfort zone, leaving him jittery. His mind bounced all over the place.

"Looks like another language," Vincent said, mind turning stones to try and recognise it. "Doesn't look like Latin, or Greek."

Harriet, unable to personally look at the sight which made her stomach roil uneasily, skimmed through Vincent's eyes. "It's parseltongue," she said, looking over them all.

They were maybe a tad paler than before, all but Blaise and herself. Draco's hair had fallen out of his gelled perfection, fluffy strands overtaking his face and swamping over his forehead no matter how hard he tried to push it back. Pansy was thin lipped with worry for Millicent, well aware of what troubles the youngest, most nonchalant member of their group could get up to in her spare time. Blaise was trying to stay a step ahead, keeping on the edge of their almost-huddle in favour of darting his eyes around the place; as worried as her about the apparent lack of life. Greg was watching Vincent, both boys concerned for their immediate situation. Theodore was a complete new neck of the woods that she couldn't afford to jump into right now. So, she settled for what she could do.

She laid a hand on his arm, pulsing a ball of comfort towards him. "It's alright, we'll be out of here in no-time, Theo." And then, towards the bigger group, "Any ideas for how to get out? I may know a few spells but my magic won't be able to hold out for us to get back up."

One of the cons of knowing all of the spells Flitwick knew; most of them were for higher levels. Harriet, whilst having more knowledge than most at her level, was still only a first year, with first year magic reserves. And, in all honesty, she was still recovering from her killing curse the night prior.

Draco frowned at her. "Aren't you going to read the words on the ground?"

"Oh," Harriet glanced at them and squinted. She murmured them and immediately her mind translated. "'Beware the monster'."

Theo swallowed loudly. "Is that-- You think--?"

"It's referring to the Monster of Hogwarts," Blaise nodded, face serious. "I think it best if we got out of here now, before anything--"

Something, in the shaodows, shifted. Instantly everyone had whirled towards the disturbance, taking a step towards each other. Harriet frowned, grabbing Theo as he swayed, and focused on the movement.

_Pain- death- kill- victims- look me in the eye- Tom where are you?- We are her- kill the pests- look me in the eye- look me in the eye- in the eye- the eye- the eye- eye- eye- eye- eye--_

Harriet sucked in a shallow breath, only now realising there was a considerable amount of dust in the air. This was the Monster of Hogwarts, this was the mighty Basilisk, the Protector.

And she was insane.

A shadow lurched from the side, Harriet shoving her way to the forefront even as Crabbe and Goyle tried to be shields.

_"Please, we mean no harm!"_ She called, frantic hissing making no dent in the creature's thought process. It was as if she couldn't hear her. Crabbe was still clutching his wand, flickering lumos holding firm. Harriet reached out for it, intending to take the wand (because of course she'd left hers in her bed) and fire a lumos at the Basilisk but the moment she touched the wand it shocked her.

Harriet couldn't help the knee-jerk reaction in turning to look at Vincent. Said boy struggled to form words, settling on shrugging. _Wands are odd things,_ he thought. _Another cannot use someone else's without winning it in battle._ _I'm sorry._

She scowled and turned back around to face the suddenly very still shadows. The silence roared in her ears, nothing but her heartbeat and her friend's jumbled, afraid thoughts tumbling through her mind. She took a deep breath and tried to filter through the mess, drowning out her friends' trails to latch onto the Basilisk's.

"Basilisk," she called in the quiet. The shadows hissed. At her back, Theo shivered. "Protector of Hogwarts; Mighty Snake of the Chamber; we come in peace. We are but the children of the snake--"

_"You aree thee heeir," _she hissed, drawl thick and rough from disuse.

_"Yes,"_ she hissed back. "My friends and I come with no ill-intent. We fell through the ground--"

_"Yees, shee seeeen."_

"What are you doing?" Pansy chose the wrong time to speak up, stomping hurriedly. "We have to go!"

_Anger- Tom where'd you go?- Basilisk is heeree, shee waiteed-- anger- rage- fury- humans- pests- no, no, no-- killllll--_

The Basilisk lunged. Harriet sprinted, skidding to a stop in front of a now horrified Pansy, arms spread wide in a surrender.

"Please," she begged. "They mean no harm! They are only humans! Not pests! I come in search of an aide _join me,_ together we could be great, _the heir of Slytherin needs the great Basilisk by their side!_ What do you say? _You and I, we could wreak havoc on the Light!_ We mean no harm."

The Basilisk, in the dull light of two _lumos'_, shuttered its great yellow eyes once. Harriet was careful to not look past its neck scales, making sure the others knew not to look through a scathing mental jab. Pansy pulsed regret, seeking forgiveness. She truly hadn't realised the situation was so... _th__in._

_"Thee heeir wants heer heelp?"_

_"Yes, if the Mighty Basilisk would."_

Harriet risked pulling her arm forward an inch, intending to pet the huge black scaled being's nose. She moved too quick.

With a great hiss loud enough to deafen, the Basilisk clamped her tooth down through Harriet's arm, shattering bone as the poison flooded her.

Shocked, she stumbled, collapsing to her knees as the Basilisk retreated. It was so loud, someone was screaming -- _she _was screaming — _ithurtsohgodpleasestop _— Harriet was screaming, clutching her arm like a lifeline. It sounded like Draco was shouting for Snape, hands were clutching at her, trying to keep her upright, off the floor, as she curled into a rocking ball of agony.

And suddenly, Snape was there. Maybe it was a dream, but Draco had quietened and so had everyone else — well, wails had reduced to sniffles — only she was left, shivering, in pain, arm feeling like it had been ripped off. The mediwitch, Pomfrey was cooing things to her whilst shouting out orders. Dumbledore was by the corner, with McGonagall, both of them probably organising the hunt for her Basilisk.

That was alright. Let them hunt her down. This was all merely a simple setback, was all. Harriet would get the Basilisk and everything would be fine.

"Shh, it's alright, dear," Pomfrey ran soft fingers through her hair, wiping away tears that Harriet didn't know had fallen with her other hand before it vanished and a searing pain coiled up her arm. Thoughts from the surrounding minds came in fragments pieces, Severus by her head no doubt trying to ease her into a calm numbness. "It's alright."

_Her arm looks horrible._

_I'm sorry._

_What direction could the beast have went? These tunnels spread for miles._

_Hush, Potter. I'm trying to calm you, you could at least stop shaking._

_Right,_ she snipped back. _Appearances and all that._

Severus ruffled her hair. "That's it, we'll get you some nice potions and you won't feel a thing. It'll be even better than that time the Muggle did you in."

_Muggles have some good drugs, _she defended even as she embraced the dark, nothingness Severus offered. Harriet passed out.


	9. In the Eye, there is Quiet

-/-/-

Chapter 9:

_In the Eye of a Hurricane, there is Quiet for but a Moment_

-/-/-

"How are you feeling?"

Snape sat down beside her, all cold frowns on the outside but mentally a wriggling ball of worry. Harriet was too dazed and numb to look at him, merely pulsing a hint of misery towards her head of house.

"Maybe you shouldn't have went by yourselves," he suggested, despite not having objected to her earlier plan. With no-one else in the infirmary — everyone having floundered off to dinner, Snape relieving Pomfrey for a few needed hours — he was open. "When you spoke of it, I at least thought you'd tell someone before you went. You're lucky I keep an eye on Draco or else you would've bled out by the time anyone had arrived."

Harriet's right arm was completely numb, held down firmly by a carcass of bandages. The venom had ricocheted off her nerves, the only thing having saved her arm being Pomfrey's timely arrival. Although, that didn't change the fact they had no anti-venom handy and Snape's presence was partly because he was here to assess her situation on just how much she needed. He was already brewing the standard three potions for daily intake, which she'd have to take for the next week or until she stopped feeling weak — and weak? She couldn't even feel half her body right now. Did that count as weak?

Snape flicked her forehead lightly. "You're getting off topic."

By thinking about what you're going to make me take daily?

He flung a tiny ball of disappointment at her. "Not even a week in and you've nearly died, Potter. What am I going to do with you?"

Let me have my fun? She chuckled weakly, laughter cutting short into a lengthy gasp for air. Snape pulsed reassurance towards her when the panic didn't recede fast enough.

You're okay. "You should be discharged in a few days. I'm afraid you'll be missing your very first potions lesson."

Aww, what a shame.

"Is that sarcasm I hear?" Snape questioned.

No, she thought. How's Millicent?

"We still haven't found her."

Millicent was missing, having disappeared some point between them falling down the Chamber's entrance (which Harriet suspected was more of an actual the floor caved in situation now) and the mass of professors appearing to get their sorry butts out of the dust ridden hole.

Harriet knew, if Millicent were to turn up dead, it would be her fault. After all, she'd been the one to dismiss Pansy's worry and although the other girl had long ago forgiven her for such a thing, Harriet was a stickler for grief.

"She can't have gone far," Snape said but they both knew that was a lie. The Basilisk was running amok now, the professors' search for it having turned up nothing, despite the numerous spells used. The fact that the Chamber of Secrets was opened had the school on lockdown, magically enchanted armour patrolling the corridors. For Millicent to not have shown up during any of that suggested she was dead.

If Harriet could muster up the second breath to laugh at the chaos she'd caused, she would've, but as it was, she was finding her chest very tight. Too much excitement and her lung complained. It was a tedious relationship at best.

"Lupin's waiting outside like a fool so I'll leave you be. I'll be back in a few hours with the first dose." A quick glance over the scanning spell that had been running over her from the second Snape had entered and it vanished. "Enjoy your bed."

I hope you burn yourself. She joked, reacting to the ironic tone he'd used with her.

His lips tilted in a smirk. "That's not very nice, Potter." And then he was gone, black cloak swishing against the doorway. Harriet mourned her invisible loss.

Five minutes later, Lupin was still lurking in the doorway. Harriet may have been able to ignore him but his thoughts were so loud to her untrained ears that no matter how many times she ran through Snape's drowning out techniques she couldn't quite get rid of his incessant niggling.

"Come in," she called eventually, sounding wearier than she felt.

"Sorry," he said immediately. Did I wake her? She was so quiet before... " I didn't mean to disturb you."

"'S alright, Moony." She hummed, eyelids heavy. She couldn't quite close them just yet, not with Millicent's bright brown eyes lurking in the dark whenever she closed her eyes. "Y'know, Padfoot said you'd got a job here."

He hadn't, she was sure. Last time she'd seen Sirius, Remus had been applying for a job here. Evidently, he'd gotten it. Applying; accepted. Eh, same thing.

"Ah, yes, Defense Against the Dark Arts professor." He sounded proud, if a tad surprised at her bluntness. Good, that made her glad. At least someone was happy. "So, Harriet," hesitance. He was worried, "How are you feeling?"

Harriet was seconds away from remarking about werewolf senses, saying she'd said this before. Then she remembered she hadn't exactly answered verbally. Gods, the earlier conversation between her and Snape must've sounded weird aloud.

"'M 'kay," she managed eventually, tongue heavy. By the gods was she tired. It weighed her down, making her feel clammy and disjointed even though that was probably the excessive amount of potions Pomfrey had her on. Still, she felt exhausted. Achingly so.

Remus seemed to pick up on this and edged towards the door, tone nervous, thoughts buzzing, you've made her tired, Lupin. Look what you did. "I should be going, you need to rest. I hope you—"

"Stay," she pleaded. Remus hesitated. She tried to remember what Sirius had babbled about him; he liked to read right? "Read to me?"

Something caved, a wall tumbling like it had never been there in the first place and he overflowed with affection. Remus pulled up a chair beside her cot, pulling a book from the bookshelf nearby. "Alright," he said and read to her until she fell asleep.

"Ever heard of the man that got burned by the sun?"

Harriet strained, eyes opening to find herself lying in a clearing. Long, overgrown grasses swayed around her, a soft breeze whistling past her ears. The sun glowered overhead, setting in a picturesque clash of purples and pinks. Clouds shone a murky grey, blotting out pieces of the puzzle that was the sky. She felt calm here, at ease.

The worried spark that writhed in her when she was within Hogwart's walls had vanished, gone as quick as the school's cool stone slabs had. Something about this place was familiar, something was soothing.

A man stooped beside her, crouching down so they were level. Piercing green eyes seared through hers, the boys brown hair ashen and curly upon his head. He looked young, skin unblemished and wrinkle-free. As he smiled she noticed his sharp canines, deigned to ignore the sharp prick in her chest at his teeththreateningfearme grin.

She blinked at him, realising he'd been the one to speak.

"You mean Icarus?"

He looked pleased, kicking out to settle on his cloak as he settled indian-style. "Yes."

Her brow creased, "What of him?"

"When he got too vain, he burned. Just like you'll burn once enough pain has been felt."

Harriet was unsure if the boys words were a threat or a warning. She tried to sit up, arms scraping against the suddenly sharp stones under her. The world spun, colourful cheeriness fading obliquely into dull greys. Above them, the sky rumbled in preparation for a thunderstorm as the clouds grew and took over.

Beside her, the boy sat, watching her with a blank look on his face. She stared back.

"Who are you?" She asked.

"You should be asking where you are, little one," said the boy who had to be only a few years older than her. "Go on."

Harriet pushed past the sharp stings of her arms and sat up, feeling her eyes widen at the state of the area. The grass was dead, burnt short and black, all but for the circle around them. To the far right sat cottages, charred to husks of their firmer glory. And Harriet could tell they'd been glorious once, subconsciously knew past the burns that there was sparkling stone and red painted windowsills. Trees had been blackened, thinned to sticks.

It looked like a war had erupted, thick heady smoke rising up to billow and pollute the once crisp air. Now it reeked of death and dismay where there had once been life and joy. She reached out and found not one person alive; she couldn't even hear the boy beside her.

Feeling queasy, she turned to her left, where the boy was. She looked him up and down, an unsure hand straying out to clutch his wavering black cloak.

"Are you hurt?" She queried, feeling her chest tug at her.

The boy glanced to her with something akin to grief. He looked ready to speak before he cleared his throat, blinked hard once, and sneered down at her. With a flash, he was standing before her. His grin was cruel.

"Who do you think I am, little one?"

She was unsure. Wasn't she meant to be in the infirmary? Was this a dream? Harriet felt dizzy, felt the arm the Basilisk had bitten through twinge beyond her haze. "Are you dead?"

"No," he tilted his head, smug and proud. She recognised him from somewhere.

A man dressed in black loomed over the babe, a mother screaming in the background. Green lit up the room, a beight blinding light. It scarred the child, left nothing else behind.

Harriet looked at him. "You're Tom Marvelo Riddle."

"Best known as the Dark Lord," he agreed.

She peered up at him, sifting through pilfered knowledge. "I was under the impression Tom and Voldemort were separate entities," she mused. The boys face twisted. "Unless something happened to one half?"

"You think you're so smart," Riddle laughed. It was a boisterous, deafening thing that made Harriet's head ring. "But oh, little one, you've made the worst decision of your entire life."

She steeled herself. "And that would be?"

He spoke with vitriol. "Remember when you died trying to remove that scar?" He didn't pause. "Yes? Good, because when you magicked away that little scar instead of decimating the mental connection between us you blew it wide open. What I see is this, I see what you see."

She swallowed. "And what have I seen?"

Riddle smirked down at her, reaching out to tug her to her feet. She stood, unbalanced as a fish. "You annoyed Eben greatly, is what I seen."

"The Basilisk?"

"Who else would I talk about?" Snarked the boy. Harriet frowned, looking up at him. He stood a good head above her, slim but sharp shoulders heaving a great line where the smoke billowed from. "You were so close too. What a shame the mortals had to get in the way."

She hummed quietly in agreement, missing Riddle's look of surprise at the assent.

"Why am I here?"

"Well I was quite enjoying the whole healing sleep before you woke me up with that jolt," his hand clutched her right shoulder, squeezing hard enough that it burned. Harriet's nerves screamed at her but she tapered down the impulse to push him back. Instead, she leaned forward, into his space. Under her lashes, she looked up at him, grinning.

"Not my fault you were a comatose old man," she goaded.

Riddle tilted his head down, staring her in the eye. She wasn't able to hear his thoughts but she knew he was circling through surprise. It was in how his eyes wavered back and forth from his hand on her shoulder to her eyes. The glow of her green irises reflected back to her through his own glimmering bottle green and he smiled softly.

"I knew I had the right one."

"I am special," she agreed, a lilt to her tone. She placed a hand on her hip, looking down at herself for the first time. She scoffed, "Next time you call you could at least put me in a dress, Riddle."

"Duly noted," he said. "And please, call me Tom."

She faded out of that vision, falling into a dream of ravaging fires and murderous ravens. Harriet woke screaming.

Millicent showed up on monday, in the hallway before the great hall; petrified.

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore had not survived over a hundred years by being a fool. In fact, he'd been anything but.

If his eyes were keen, his nose was keener. When the house elves cooked bolognese he usually knew before the early dinner announcement, the smell of mince and onion heavy in the air. His vision had not yet failed him and there was pride that swelled anew each time he peered a distance and saw more than most at his age would, still saw more than most younger ones would too. He could smell a rat before he saw one.

Rats smelt bad, like fog on a sunny day, blueberries in autumn, like a Basilisk prowling his school's grounds thanks to an unrepentant teenager. But there was the thing — Harry Potter wasn't even a teenager yet but he'd (she'd?) still managed to open the door to the Chamber of Secrets and put his possé's lives in danger.

The opening had came sooner than anyone would've wanted and although Severus assured him the kids had followed something that had caught their attention and been caught in a floor caving, he wasn't so sure. Of course, all the children had agreed individually to the story, but Albus was no fool, as old as he was.

Potter is due to be released on the wednesday, so he visits them on the tuesday.

The door opened for him, as most things do here out of respect, and Poppy looked up. She offered him a strained smile, a small nod of thanks as she got up to leave for dinner. He'd offered to look after Potter today, preaching it was only right he chipped in. Everyone had accepted the reasoning and if they hadn't no objection had been raised.

"Pomfrey?" Came the hushed whisper, the voice of a child unsure of the events occuring around them. For not the first time since the revelation the Prophesied Child had been among those to unveil the great snake, Albus wondered if Voldemort had done more harm than they'd known on that fated night. Perchance, mind control? It would've only been one more thing amidst the bestowing of great, universally unchallenged power.

It was times like these, Albus hated prophesies. Not for the innocent women and men and children that had to die for them but instead for the work he had to put in that no one could see; the effort he excerted was extortionate and all too tiresome. Already, Potter was being troublesome.

"Rest easy, darling," Poppy assured Potter. She fluttered over to their bedside for all of a moment. Albus stepped forth and ushered her on, silently. He was in no mood to play pleasantries. "Dumbledore will stay with you for dinner, until I get back."

A pause where Dumbledore heard nothing but Poppy's rushing thoughts. Odd, where were Potter's? Then, "Okay."

"Alright, dearie." Poppy checked something Albus didn't care much for before turning to him. She thought a little louder than usual, If she starts seizing, call me, same for if she starts coughing blood. I've got her on a few draughts that haven't been tested together before so be on the lookout for any adverse effects.

He nodded to show he understood.

Poppy glanced back at the child, who'd turned away from them, nose buried in one of Severus' old leather bound books. She sighed almost mutely, Don't take her posturing to heart. She was cold to even Minerva.

Even Minerva? He thought, struggling to quash the memories of another child who'd disliked his Second. Albus set a gentle hand on the woman's shoulder and softly pushed her towards the door.

"Go, Poppy," he smiled, letting his eyes twinkle in the way that reassured nearly everyone. "All will be well."

The Mediwitch smiled at him, offered Potter a final, hushed "See you later, darling" and was gone.

Albus decided to settle on Poppy's cushioned chair and read a book of his own. With a twirl of his wrist the book that had been on his desk moments before was in his hands the next. Potter didn't move but he could feel the child's eyes on him, past the edge of dogged corners. He recognised the aura; curiosity, more restrained than normal but curiosity at its finest. With any luck the child would warm to him and he'd be saved a load of trouble in watching them to keep tabs.

He let the girl stare for a few minutes longer, flicking his book's pages for the effect of usefullness. When five minutes passed and the child hadn't looked away once, Albus spoke quietly.

"Curiosity killed the cat, my dear."

Amusement tinged the air around the girl. Albus prodded at her mind, found nothing but ash and dust and fires fifty foot high and retreated with a shallow breath. Nightmares, Poppy had hinted at such when she'd said draughts. It wasn't unusual for such horrors to follow those they plauged in the day but for a child so young to know such gore—

Potter carefully slipped the book shut. "But satisfaction brought it back."

Pulling a gentle smile on, Albus tugged himself into the present. The girl's head was a myraid, half of which she'd likely shut off so hard from herself that not even his soothing prompting had opened it up — the other option was a degree of control over her mind but what elven year old had such power? That was assuring; it meant the girl likely knew nothing of the troublesome magik he'd found her saturated in at Godric's Hollow. Those sigils had been hard to carve into a wiggling infant but he'd done it nonetheless, where no-one dared hear. Albus would not let such a feat go without fruit — the girl would be normal until the day she died, as claimed one prophecy amongst many others.

"Indeed," he hummed. "How are you feeling? It must've been quite a shock."

Potter watched him, unblinking. "It was. The last thing we expected was for the floor to—"

A prod at his shields, a gentle murmur.

"—fall through. The dust was proportionate."

"Thick enough to choke on?" He chanced, pulsing back at the prod. It tried to retreat but he reached out and grabbed it, containing the circular golden orb in his own murky blue rings. The girl stiffened as if shocked but Albus continued, feeling a thrum of excitement he hadn't felt in years.

Very suddenly, he was mighty pleased the infirmary was empty of all others. Even so soon in the week the Weasley Twins had yet to begin their annual prank war.

He tugged the orb towards him mentally, watching as Potter's arm shook. It was her bad one which did so, triggering a full body shake as she mewled in pain. The orb didn't seem to be connected to her, merely attached and Albus didn't bother to entertain the thought that she was behind this. If anything, the sigils' magiks were reaching out towards him because he'd written them — as was the most logical explanation.

Giving a shake along the mental reel, Potter shook, book clattering to the floor as it slid off the bed amongst the girl's thrashing. Her head swung back, hitting nothing but pillows as her back arched forth and the crude magik bubbled in the air. She screamed and the wards quivered.

Albus released the orb.

Standing, he approached her, finding the girl staring up at the ceiling, dazed and incomprehensible. Wide unseeing eyes flickered, pupils churning feverently in an attempt to see. She gave a weak cough that sounded wet as blood drooled down her lips, flowing quickly enough to stain the bedsheets. Potter was unresponsive to the precautionary gentle tap on her leg.

Ah, despite the mess he'd made the satisfaction was undeniable. Potter gurgled weakly, choking on her own blood. Albus plastered on a worried concerned face and shouted hurriedly for an elf to get Poppy.

The girl's gaze drifted downwards to him and stayed on him until Poppy arrived.

Albus didn't bother to hide anything as he smiled down at her.


	10. Embrace the Pain

-/-/-

Chapter 10: _Embrace the Syrup Pain of Chaos in your Veins_

-/-/-

_"He hurt you," _whispered the voice without preamble. Harriet recognised it needless of prompt, only peeling her eyes open to check that Pomfrey had her back turned to her before managing a meek nod. In the corner, bubbled by shadows, emerged the bottle green eyes of one Tom Marvello Riddle. He seethed with anger, not aimed at her but at Dumbledore. Deep down she felt that same anger but it was dulled by exhaustion and pain. _"That bastard hurt you."_

_Yes, _she thought, bleakly remembering the old man's azure blue eyes hovering over her before Pomfrey had arrived and things had gotten blurry. She tried to move but found more pain, this time springing up in places she hadn't ever have hurt before. _It hurts._

_"I know, little one,"_ Tom's hand ran through her hair, laying wild and untamed over the feathered pillow. Shivering she leaned up into the touch, feeling eerily more at ease with the boy here than she had with anything or anywhere else. _"I'm sorry he had to hurt you."_

_Everyone likes a little pain now and then, _she huffed, fingers twitching by her side.

Tom offered a weak chuckle, the look in his eyes unreadable. Pomfrey shifted from her position organising her bookshelf and turned as Tom faded back into the shadows. The mediwitch scurried over, hands fluttering over her like an inept child. She hadn't seen Tom, Harriet was sure, there was a nagging feeling in the back of her head that said only she could see him; the older woman was merely excited about her actually being awake.

Not that she would be excited to see the boy version of the Dark Lord Voldemort. Though, Harriet wasn't sure Tom would be recognisable as the noseless warbringer at first glance.

"Would you like some water, darling?" Harriet let the older woman fuss over her, helping her sit up to get down a quarter of a glass and a few anti-venom potions.

"We'll have to be careful with the draughts," the witch rambled but Harriet wasn't listening. "I've never heard of or seen anyone having averse reactions to pain and soothing druns but I suppose everyone metabolizes differently."

Tom's eyes were still in the shadows, definitely invisible to Pomfrey. Upright Harriet could see the black cloak curled around him, could feel his seething, impenetrable _horrible_ anger. Her throat choked on an anguished moan at the look in his eyes at the same time Pomfrey started to unwrap her right arm.

"Oh! I'm sorry, darling," the mediwitch cooed, apologetic eyes grounding her in the present. She blinked at the half unwrapped state of her arm. "I'll make this quick. We just need to make sure your seizure didn't have any effects on your arm's healing rate." Harriet glanced at her, feeling heavy like lead. Pomfrey took pity, "But worry not, even if it is damaged it's nothing a few healing potions won't fix."

Bandages peeled back to reveal a large jagged scar, oval-like in shape and as red as sunburn. Small, twisted, white lines radiated from the center, stark and coarse on her skin, likely marking the paths of the Basilisk's venom. Harriet felt Tom's gaze burn into her. Her shoulder burned where he'd grabbed her earlier. She felt dizzy, even though she was only sitting up.

"I want to lie down," she managed, feeling her vision tunnel dangerously. Pomfrey glanced up to her face and hurried to ease her back down on the pillows. The blanket was hiked up to her chest as the mediwitch lathered a balm onto her magically sealed wound. Finally, what felt like an eternity later, the mediwitch moved back and pottered off with promises of clean bandages.

_"I'll kill him,"_ growled Tom. _"You're mine to play with, no one else's."_

_How thoughtful of you, _she sent, feeling a tad overwhelmed. The boy had a possessive streak which was alright — she could get with that, could make it work if these visits became long term. _How long do they plan to keep me here?_

Tom scoffed. _"With Eben enraged this small room is likely the safest place in Hogwarts, aside from the dungeons. But nevertheless, they intend to discharge you on saturday. Although that could change."_

_I assume the school is still on lockdown?_

_"Still in turmoil, indeed." _

Tom shifted in the darkness, his eyes darting around. Pomfrey had vanished into her storeroom at the far end beside her desk. He stepped out, a hesitant finger trailing down the skin of her good arm. His gaze was predatory. _"Three more have been petrified."_

Panic clouded her vision. She opened her eyes to Pomfrey standing over her, magic humming as she tried to calm her. Harriet didn't care for calming down, could only see Dumbledore hovering there, **grinning.** She was scared, so scared — nothing like she ever had been before, never.

Afraid of death, wasn't that amusing? The Heir to Slytherin's throne was fearful of the empty embrace of the end. She felt queasy, only realised she was vomitting bile when Pomfrey's aged hand curled around her back, helping her to spit it out into the bucket that had appeared from nowhere. Tom had vanished, eyes gone. She felt cold.

"There, there, dearie." Pomfrey murmured, sounding so far away yet so close. The world shimmered around her, Harriet's vision tunneling around the older woman's greying hair. Was this death? She wasn't sure she wanted to know—

"Harriet."

She opened her eyes, back in the field of long luscious grass. This time she wore a soft flower patterned dress in greens and blues. Grateful she glanced down at it, pleased when the shade of blue was far nicer than old Dumble-twit's eyes. Good, this was pleasing. In this mental world she had nice plush breasts and the unsavory things that hung between her legs were gone. She felt free. The air smelt like freshly cut grass and the dampness that came after a heavy rain but the land was dry and she felt _happy._

"Little one?"

Tom crouched in front of her, gaze burning. Level with her, he seemed so young. Alone. Was he lonely out here, did it get suffocating being the only person for miles?

"Tom," she said, feeling stronger here than she did in the physical realm. Still though, her head ached. Tom was wearing dark blue jeans and some white shirt, the wizard cloak thrown over the top. He offered her a hand that she paused on, clutching a hardened palm as long fingers curled around her wrist. "I don't know if—"

"You'll be fine," Tom said, grabbing her outstetched hand before tugging her to her feet. Harriet half expected for her knees to buckle, or something equally as stupid, but nothing happened. Tom let go of her bicep and Harriet startled, unaware he'd been clutching it in the first place. In her defense, it was her very numb right arm.

Even here it was bandaged, covered up to above the elbow, although the upper bandages were loose enough for her to be able to bend her arm. Surprisingly she felt nothing as she glanced at it, no remorse nor anger — it was just _there_ and she'd accepted that.

The wind rustled around them. Harriet blinked and reorientated herself in a forest, great towering oaks surrounding her. They stood on an old wood chip path, both silent as the birds twittered. She wondered if this place was based off somewhere real or if Tom's imagination had worked it up, like she had with her pretty castle.

"How are you feeling?" Tom asked eventually, after they'd leisurely began following the trail. The shadows of the forest shifted but none made out the blue of Dumble-twit's eyes so she was _okay._ She was fine, just needed a breather, needed her headache to stop making her head ache.

"Mmhmm," she hummed, noting how he slowed down with her when she attempted to adjust the speed. Harriet pushed her gaze ahead, gripping the soft cotton of her dress. She was thankful there were no ugly brown slacks this time. "I'm tired."

"Mentally or physically?"

"Both." Even to her own ears did she sound faint. She tried to ignore how Tom needed to reach out and steady her as the terrain got steeper. Her head didn't like all the walking and demanded she get back in a cot to wile away the days. "That bastard is harsh."

"I'll kill him," Tom assured, tone that of a reverent promise. His hands cupped her left hand, warm even past the cold emptiness she felt from it. "For you."

Her chest felt warm. "That's cute."

They both blinked, equally surprised at her response. She felt too warm, felt like she was burning alive, heat rushing up to lick at her calves. Tom cleared his throat and she came to on the ground, head pillowed on the boy's thighs.

"Sorry," he managed, sounding meek. "I didn't mean to overwhelm you like that."

"Who died?" She whispered, snippets of harsh wailing and a child mourning whispering to her from the dark part of her head that she'd come to associate with the horcrux bond between her and the boy beside her. Even if she had destroyed the horcrux the bond was still there and, like Tom had said, was wider than ever. This was a first for memory transferral.

Tom didn't answer. The birds chirped above them, sun shining in through the thick green canopy. When Harriet felt her legs were not so jelly-like anymore she offered to resume their walk.

"I want to show you something," nodded Tom, helping her up as he walked her down through the undergrowth, off the path.

"Not on the path?" She queried, keeping pace with him only thanks to the firm hand clutching hers. Eventually they stumbled into a clearing, one great, spindly branched tree towering over all the others.

"This is a trembling aspen," he explained, a soft awe in his voice. "Irish legend says if you touch the tree the bad spirits that make the leaves shake will curse you with bad luck and haunt you until you die."

"Creative," she smirked, feeling soft because Tom was feeling soft. "Why this one?"

"This tree was in my garden when I was a boy. It's the building steps to this world."

"This world?" She echoed, gazing up at the tree. It had to be at least over a hunded foot tall, what with how it twisted far out of sight.

"We're in my mindscape."

Harriet floundered. "That's awfully trusting of you."

She'd assumed they were in some projected world in their heads, not Tom's_ personal_ space. Why he'd picked a forest was beyond her.

"Aww," Tom leaned in, eyes glimmering. "I know you won't hurt me, little one. Otherwise what would be the point?"

She levelled him with an unimpressed look. "Not sure. You could be a masochist."

Tom chuckled. "I assure you, I am not."

"That's what they all say," she tittered conspirationally.

A familiar presense prodded at her mind. She tugged Tom's cloak and closed her eyes. He let her go.

-/-/-

Snape strode into the infirmary and stopped short. The stench of magic was pungent, surrounding a certain unconscious Potter girl.

"What happened?" He demanded, snapping his cloak behind him as he thundered towards the girl. Even unconscious her brow was pulled tight, pain clear over her face as she panted for breath. An infection? Her right arm looked to be freshly bandaged. Were the anti-venom potions not working?

"She took a turn," Poppy explained. "I think it was the sleeping draught and the pain nullifier."

_What?_ Severus knew for a fact that combination had been used before so the very fact that Harriet would react to it was shocking. She wasn't even allergic to anything, according to the diagnostic spells both he and Poppy had dropped on her.

He reached out and froze at what he felt. The girl's mind was a mess, hazy and unfocused thoughts racing around. Her mindscape hadn't been breached, for the magic would've been thicker, but her outer thoughts and nerve-body track most certainly had been.

Harriet had sustained a mental attack. With a sinking stomach, Severus knew who it had been.

"I could take her for a quarter," he offered Poppy quietly. "You could get tea."

Poppy rumaged around behind him before pausing and taking in the proposal. "Severus, you're too good to me," she joked. Her smile was grateful. "Are you sure?"

"I wouldn't have offered otherwise," he confirmed.

Five seconds later, Poppy had vanished for a well-earned tea break after a quick thanks. Severus paid her no heed as she left, door tapping shut softly behind her. The infirmary was empty as ever, the newest petrified students having been settled in his classroom to allow him to research any way to reverse the effects without the Basilisk's death, seeing as it was seeming near impossible at this point. It helped that classes had been called off for the lockdown, the silent suits of armour parading around the school with their empty heads.

He snapped himself into focus, concentrating on grabbing the stray parts of Harriet and pulling her down, into her body. There was no doubt Dumbledore had gotten cocky, playing around with what he didn't know.

Severus was just glad he himself was around to assure Harriet woke up. If he'd left her the way Dumbledore had, she would never have woken and managed to stay awake for more than ten minutes — he'd seen things like this years ago, under another iron fist, a dark blooming cloud in the sky, a mask on his face.

He delved into the girl's first wall, gently sending out a ripple for her to catch. The sooner she knew of his presence and met him the sooner they could reorganize her mind, give her more control over what went where. She accepted him, letting him materialize in her mindscape.

Opening his eyes to find himself standing above a stone courtyard, Severus nodded to Harriet. In her mind she was every bit the woman she'd grow up to be, a long fluttering red dress assuring everyone knew she was comfortable here.

"Are you well?" He worried, striding forth to meet her halfway on the courtyard's battlements. She shied back from his touch before she could stop herself, seeming bashful when she realised what she'd done. Severus felt anger well up at Dumbledore; the old coot just couldn't leave things how they were, could he?

"I'm not sure," she admitted meekly. "My physical form feels odd and even here I feel faint."

"Dumbledore ripped your main vassal apart, whether on purpose or not I'm unsure. The main vassal allows for the mind's easy transferance between mindscape and soul. With it fractured it would make sense for a beginner or even a master to feel unwell."

"Does it fade?"

"As you heal, yes. Although it seems like you'll be in the infirmary until saturday, at the most. I'll vouch for our common room couches before things spiral. Somewhere peaceful will help you piece yourself together again."

The girl nodded, easily sitting down on her battlement ledge. Severus copied, doing so with a little more care. His mindscape or not, he had no want to experience a fall to the death. Fake or real.

"How many have been petrified?"

"In total, four. The Basilisk has still not been found so the school is essentially shut down for all but dinner and breakfast in the hall."

"Anyone dead?"

"Not yet."

"Ah," she said and was that remorse or joy? Here he couldn't read her as well, too deep in her groundings to be able to pull back to his own mindscape to analyse her. Pride welled inside of him for her; even though she was a simple beginner, Harriet was capable of smothering him in her mind, a hard task and nothing to be brushed aside. It made him worry Dumbeldore would catch onto her power.

Harriet nudged him, lithe arm bumping into his. A large red scratch trailed down her arm, separate from the thick canvas bandages going from her elbow down. Severus dared not mention it in fear of reminding her of the pain Dumbledore had caused. He assumed it was a mark left over from the initial attack.

"I can hear you worrying, hush," she smirked, something glinting in her eyes for all of a second before he gaze flashed out over her stone castle. It was a grandiose setting, a strong firm atmosphere of _willstrengthpower_ washing over everything within the enchanted walls. Beyond the castle walls stirred black depths, above sat a bright mid-noon sun that seemed to dominate a cloudless sky. She was in a good enough mood then, seeing as weather usually reflected the owner's emotional state.

The gods knew Severus' sky had been a bleak, dark thunderstorm for years.

"Everything's alright now," said the girl suddenly. She kicked her legs back and forth, blood red gown fluttering with her motions. "I can handle Eben so long as Dumbleton doesn't kill her first."

Severus felt himself smirk. "Dumbleton?" He repeated.

Harriet nodded, gaze wandering over her steep cornices and battlements. The walls seemed to span for miles, tall sturdy things that would stand up to any attack. They were perhaps one of the reasons why Dumbledore's attack hadn't killed her. Not that he was dismissing her will to live.

"Dumbleton," she agreed. "Or Dumbletwit. I'm not too sure yet. Which do you prefer?"

"The latter," he decided finally. "Although I do believe Dumbleprick would suit better."

Harriet laughed; soft and tired, barely a chuff of air expelled forcefully from her lungs but a laugh all the same. She beamed at him, eyes bright as the sky. It seemed to get warmer. Severus stared at her, saw Lily in her grin, in her eyes, in her cold blooded determination and quick wit. He smiled back.

"Poppy will be back soon," he declared. Harriet wiggled her fingers at him and he blinked in the present, standing above her unconscious body.


	11. The Damned Plan

**A.N: I would like to remind everyone that I don't own the franchise nor am I following canon. There will be aspects and events from canon within this, but this, as you can probably tell, is not following the original prompt of the first book. I would appreciate it if you could understand that before commenting something along the lines of 'this isn't canon'. Thank you.**

-/-/-

Chapter 11: _Asked if I had a Plan, Goddamn_

-/-/-

Draco stared at the parchment, feeling his eyes burn. It was late, he reasoned. He was tired. Mother had sent him a letter about her next garden party, had included a little bit of gossip for him but other than that there was nothing. Father had been acting odd recently but Mother hadn't dared add that in clearly, instead having reverted to their code to say that Dumbledore had summoned a Wizengamot meeting in a month — something about wanting a more regular schedule.

Silently, he debated the pros and cons of telling his mother how the entirety of Hogwarts was on _lockdown_ because of the Great Basilisk; debated telling his mother of their adventure under the bathrooms; wondered if he should tell her he'd befriended the Prophesied Child.

Beyond the drawn curtains of his _silencio'd_ four-poster bed there was a clatter. Draco didn't much care what or who it had been, the others were active enough that it could've been any of them. Vincent was painting, he knew. Blaise had been sharpening his stylus before Draco'd retreated to his bed and Theodore had been dragged off by Pansy to the kitchens with Greggory.

Theo rushed into the room, no doubt bouncing like the ball of energy he was. "Did you hear? Did you hear?" He chittered excitably. The mirth of Draco's _silencio_ spell was that it muted him from the others but not the others from him. He'd yet to learn the art of making the others shut up. "Snape said Harriet'll be out by tomorrow! She's okay!"

"Of course she is," Blaise assured the boy, sounding like he was smirking. "That girl's too tough to be taken down by a mere overgrown snake. Where's Pansy?"

"Said she was tired," Greggory grunted, door opening to allow him entrance so that he caught the tail end of Blaise's question. It snipped shut before he continued. "She's gone to bed."

A moment of silence passed, one where Draco squeezed his eyes shut and tried to chase away the images of Millicent prancing towards that damned eagle in the mirror. Annoyed, he rolled over and shoved the letter from his mother under his pillow and gave his wand a wave. The silencio dropped. He pushed open the curtains with such speed that Theo flinched. Blaise offered him a curious smirk.

"When will Harriet be back?"

Theo had flopped over to Vincent's side, watching as he painted the interrior corridor of a grandiose castle. Draco had seen the sketch earlier and he had to admit it was impressive. With paint he was sure it was nothing short of a masterpiece.

"Sometime after dinner," said the brown haired boy, bending to ask Vincent about something in his painting.

"That's good," Vincent said. "I should have this finished by then."

"You said it's her landscape?" Draco questioned.

Vincent gently dabbed his paintbrush into a spudge of light grey. He shook his head. "Her _mindscape,_" he corrected. "This is what she sees when she closes her eyes."

Blaise's eyebrow lifted. "That's impressive. Are you sure she sees suits of armour and glowing cyrstals?"

"Most definitely," the other boy nodded. This was the most Draco had heard him speak in the ten years he'd known the other. Talking with Harriet had seemed to make him want to speak more. He just thanked the gods Greggory was still as quiet as ever — when Crabbe was older he was sure that quiet would turn into stern gruffness, a marvelous trait for any man that hulked with muscles like a mountain (as was the direction Crabbe and Goyle were heading, with wide shoulders and tense forms).

"You paint well," commended Blaise.

Vincent dabbed the grey along what looked to be stone walls. His ears reddened. "Thanks."

"I think we should go down to the bathrooms," Draco announced. Everyone froze.

"What?" Theo gasped, always the dramatic one. "But— We—"

"Your reasoning, Malfoy?" Blaise demanded, tugging Theo onto his bed beside him. The boy's bumpy landing didn't seem to distrub any of his carving kit that had been laid out.

"Millicent went missing there," he started. "Yet none of the teachers have actually gone there."

"Aside from pulling us out of that hole, they haven't," Blaise agreed, eyebrow raised in a sign that Draco had to present a sensible reason now or he was going to stop listening.

"I think they're trying to cover something up," he said. "They know Millicent went missing before showing up petrified _two_ days later. What was she doing the whole time?"

"And you think going _there_ will tell us?" Theo ventured.

Draco thought back to the bathrooms, the dust, the marble counters, the ghost. "I think Moaning Myrtle knows more than she let on."

Theo bit his lip. Blaise sighed, "Harriet talked to her. Surely she'd have known..."

He trailed off and there was a tense quiet.

"Exactly," Draco said, hoping Blaise had realised the same thing he had. "Harriet knew whatever the ghost did and she was... taken out."

There was a unanimous wince.

"And no one's heard Myrtle crying recently."

Theo's eyes were wide. "So what, you think this is some sort of conspiracy? And you both want to go _there?"_

"I didn't say I wanted to," Blaise protested. "I've had enough of watching people's arms be bitten off, much appreciated."

Vincent snuffled a laugh. "It bit her, it didn't rip her arm off."

"Don't tell me you didn't hear the whispers of her nearly losing her arm?"

"Those were fake," Greggory spoke suddenly, having sat atop his trunk to listen. "The house elves said so."

"Can we go back to the bit where you guys wanted to go back to the creepy bathroom?" Theodore pestered. He looked worried. "Unless you guys noticed we're kinda on a lockdown right now?"

"Because of a snake," Blaise said. "We should be fine, seeing as we avoid the armour and refrain from looking at the Basilisk's eyes or reflection."

Theodore made a choking noise. "You guys are crazy, when would you even do this?"

Draco gave a nod to Blaise, who seemed to debate the efficiency of the plan. Theo opened his mouth.

Vincent leaned back from his painting, "Tonight would be best, unless you want to drag Harriet along when she would be healing."

"I was thinking that too," Blaise gave a nod. Theodore had started spluttering.

"But— But what if we're caught? What if someone rats us out?"

"Oh, so it's _we _now?" Draco grinned. Theo stuck his tongue out.

"Well, obviously. You guys need your crazy to be balanced out or you'll do something silly!"

Blaise's smile was soft. "I'm sure. If we're caught we say we were worried about Harriet and on our way to see her."

"And if we're too far away for that to be plausible?"

"The stairs turned us around?"

Draco hummed. "They do like to move around."

"We doing this now?" Greggory checked.

"Sounds good," Blaise nodded. Draco agreed with his own head tilt. "It's long past curfew and most of the elders are probably asleep."

"Let me just finish up this shading and then we can go," Vincent said.

-/-/-

Blaise led the procession, Theodore clutching to his side. They made good progress, up until the common room. Before where the corridors had been dark and quiet, the common room was a beacon in comparison. A few older ones were settled amongst themselves, chatting quietly as the muggle box someone had brought in played a film in the background.

Motioning for silence, Blaise kept to the shadows at the edge of the room. Where Draco, Vincent and Greggory followed astutely, Theo kept close behind Blaise. The older ones had shuffled around the fireplace, beanbags and chairs pulled up to the half-circle. From the distance, he could see Thawyer and Mulciber playing cards, Avery watching as he smoked. Gaunt was on the couch opposite, watching them, shoulder moving as if he was petting something. Flint and Tracy were battling over the popcorn as they watched a film, some Disney rip-off.

They made it halfway to the door before there was a snicker. Vaisey's head popped up from Gaunt's side, body tilted as if he'd been lounging there. His silver eyes speared Blaise's own and in that instant, in the widening of the other's grin, he knew they were caught.

"Tryin' to sneak out, kiddies?" He laughed quietly, immediately drawing attention to where he was looking. Knowing they were caught, Blaise stepped out, Theo a tug behind him. Draco sighed before he too emerged, Vincent and Greggory close behind. "Wow, nearly the whole crew's here.

"No girls though," Tracy drawled from her seat. She'd grabbed the popcorn bowl from Flint in his distraction and now she munched on it like they were the comedy. "Bit sexist, don't you think?"

Draco shrugged, "Pansy was tired."

The older ones laughed.

Thawyer motioned to the portrait that was the Bloody Baron. "He's out flirting with the ones on the seventh floor, so long as yous don't venture up there you guys should be fine."

"You're letting us go?" Theo perked up.

Vaisey grinned and rolled back, flopping back into Gaunt's lap. The others offered them varying degrees of confirmation. Avery winked, making a shooing motion.

"We didn't see anything," he said cheerily. "Now go before you get us all in trouble."

Blaise nodded, making a note of all those who were helping. "We were never here," he said, striding forth to the door.

"We never heard nothing," Flint grunted, managing to grab a bit of popcorn to flick at Avery. With that the older ones seemed to lose interest and turned away.

-/-/-

Theo stood there, pretending his veins weren't tingling and his hands weren't burning with each breath. He stared, watching as Blaise duked a head inside the bathrooms. His nod confirmed Theo's worst fear.

Slowly, they re-entered the small room from hell. If possible, the dust was ten times as thick, the collapsed statue in the centre having given way for a large seemingly bottomless pit. It was dark, the remaining cubicles tilted at odd angles, all leaning towards the gaping hole in the floor.

"Be careful," warned Blaise. He skirted the edge of the room, seemingly on a path to stand opposite the mirrors on the other side of the hole. From what Theo remembered that was the only place one of them hadn't stood so he supposed it was more likely to not collapse under them. If it did — well, Theodore never had expected to make it past sixteen, what with the whole prophecy and all. What was a few years less?

"The cubicles are unstable so don't touch them," Draco added, giving him a pointed look. Theo pouted and stuck his tongue out; _as __if _he'd touch them!

"I'm sure we could tell," Blaise assured, eyeing the tilted structures. "We may have to get over there anyway."

"Great," Theo huffed, a few hairs aways from hugging the wall as he skirted across the gap. From far away it had looked bigger but after seeing Blaise step over crumbled tile easily he felt a little better.

The bathrooms were in quite the state, nevermind the tilted stalls or the missing sector of flooring. Since their last visit the bathroom appeared smaller, more suffocating. He looked around after stepping beside Blaise on the side where the cubicles were. Where the eagle had appeared, in the mirror, was what looked to be a scratched outline of a circle that caught Theo's eye. He blinked at it.

"Hey," he caught everyone's attention, although Blaise didn't look up from where he was giving a Draco a hand across the collapse. "Was there always a circle in the mirror?"

Draco got across and squinted at the circle. "You can't see it where you are, Blaise, but here the light glints off it. It looks—"

The fair haired boy paused, a panicked look glinting in his eyes for all of a second. Quieter, he finished, "It looks like a squashed version of _his_ mark."

Theo felt his stomach sink, tilting his head until he saw the rest of it. For any other children to have found this, they'd probably have brushed it off as weird, but for them — children of Death Eaters and sure to become one themselves if the prophesies held true — this was a momentous, fearful occasion.

Blaise had flushed two shades paler. He hesitated between helping Greggory and Vincent, eyes flickering in a crescendo of gold.

"We'll guard the door," Greggory offered, sharing a look between him and Vincent. With a nod the two had retreated to the walls, not quite touching them but near enough. They took up their posts like knights in some fantasy book, wands drawn by their sides.

For a moment, Theo wondered what they'd do if they came across someone unpleasant at the door before remembering nearly every Dark child knew the three taboo curses. He offered the two a smile that they returned.

Blaise, meanwhile, had carefully walked along the edge of the hole and was now beside the mirror, wand held aloft in his hand as he peered up at the squished sign. Referring to it as _that_ mark in his head made him queasy so he didn't think about it and glanced at the cubicles.

"Could _he_ be playing a part in this? Maybe one of his subordinates?" Draco questioned. "It would make sense, with Harriet being the— the Foretold One."

"You think, even if _he _was alive, _he'd_ be trying to kill his supposed successor?" Blaise protested. "And I don't think any man worth his coin would be carving this shameful obscenity into a random mirror?"

"What if it's not random?" Draco pursued. "That's the thing, what if this is another of those damn prophesies? What if this is all set in stone?"

"Nothing is," Vincent pipped up. Theo looked away from Draco's pinched expression to walk toward the cubicles. "Nothing's set in stone. Not until a set of guidelines have been followed and are followed."

"Didn't know we had a professional with us," Blaise teased. "This _could_ be a prophecy but I doubt it's one of ours."

Theo thought about that, gently easing open a cubicle door. The wood was old and rotting, hollow as it swung open. He didn't really know what he was looking for as he explored, but he figured he was looking for something. Risking a peek into the toilet he found it drained of any water. _Weird, _he thought, noting how they were as clean as the day they'd been shut down.

Shrugging it off as good hygiene, Theo moved onto the next stall, doing the same for the remaining five doors. Each toilet was nearly sparkling if not for the thick layer of dust on them and completely drained. He'd expected more, so on the last stall he stepped forwards.

Very suddenly he felt like he'd fallen into a glacier of ice. Every bone in his body shook, his hairs stood on end and he felt the urge to look up. He did and came face to face with the very thing they'd been hoping to escape.

Theo bit down on his tongue to stop the scream, resulting in a muffled squeak. The conversation that had been carrying on to her left stopped and Draco's voice pipped up, confused and worried. a hand tapped his shoulder before a sharp exclamation made his ears ring and he was tugged back.

The Basilisk lunged for them, long red tongue grazing Theo's shoulder as it smashed into the opposing cubicles. Theo was dragged back, Draco's arm secure around his waist as he gasped for air. Distantly, he heard Blaise muttering something and Draco was tugging him back along the narrow ledge towards the door.

He couldn't stop staring at the snake; knew he shouldn't be looking anywhere near it or its big deadly eyes but the deep subconscious urge was pressing and nearly toxic.

With a low thrum, the snake shook itself out, head shaking back and forth as it peeled itself out of the crater it had created. It hissed then paused, coiling back for a moment. Theo gaped at it, at the huge snake that was staring at them, body hanging out from the ceiling, only about nine feet laying out, its huge head peering up at them.

Blaise stood, wand brandished and at some point Draco had ditched him between Greggory and Vincent to point his own wand at it too. The Basilisk seemed amused at this, long tongue swiping out to wiggle at them before it slithered back and vanished back into the ceiling.

Theo felt faint, only barely remaining on his feet at Vincent's hand on his back.

"By the gods," he managed. Everyone looked a little shell shocked, wands stiff by their sides. Theodore's felt like it weighed a tonne at his side. "That was... weird."

"Why didn't it kill us?" Draco questioned.

"Maybe it recognised us?" Blaise tried, but he didn't seem to agree with his own answer either.

Theodore stood straighter, patting Vincent's arm in thanks. He cast his gaze around, still not really sure what they were doing and froze.

"The eagle!" He gasped. Blaise jerked around, wand raised high. The thing cawed at them, beak opening wide to reveal three sharp sets of numerous teeth. Its wings flapped out, red and shiny like freshly spilled blood. The wingspan was immense, well over twenty feet, even in the mirror.

"What the heck?" Blaise snarled, "How come this thing only shows up when the Basilisk appears?"

"You think it's connected?" Greggory asked, sounding unsure.

Theo shuffled over to the mirror. "Well," he leaned forward, bending over the countertops that had broken in half. "It was what Millicent seen before she went missing."

He reached out, curious.

"That doesn't mean it was the thing to—" Draco cut himself off. "Theodore be careful!"

His fingertips grazed the mirror but the sharp glass was gone, replaced for a sea that rippled and parted to accept him. Behind him the others shouted but Theo couldn't hear them past the roar in his ears. The ocean gaped for him, spilling out to flush over him in a wave.

"Theo!" Blaise gripped his arm, trying to pull him back as the water rushed up to their ankles. Theo was soaked to the bone but something felt right, a cold echoing cavern in his chest had been filled.

_Come to me,_ was the murmur. A soft watery whisper that invaded his ears and made his heart thump. Cold swamped him, a good cold this time, not like the chilling one that had made his head sore. This cold made his body tingle, his vision blacked out, his lungs ached—

Vincent had pulled him away from the mirror and he spluttered on the water that swamped them, had them wading a few meters from the once high ceiling. The others were shouting around him but Theo felt weird — disjointed and slow — so he let his head flop, falling on Vincent's shoulder as he went numb.

Draco and Blaise were shouting at each other past the howl of water rushing into the room from the mirror. The levels were still rising. In a few seconds they'd be pressed up against the ceiling.

Blaise disappeared for a moment and the panic that rose in Theo's throat forced him to tune in. Draco was tense, wading the water with Greggory by his side.

"What's happening?" He tried to ask but only succeeded in coughing, choking on the dirty mirror water. Vincent clutched him close because Theo couldn't seem to get his legs to work, treading for the both of them as he patted at his back. They were inches away from the ceiling now.

He stopped coughing long enough to see Blaise appear, looking desperate. "Anyone know how to do the destroying shield spell?" He gasped. "The door's blocked by the mirrors magic. We'll need to bust through."

"Surprised no one's heard us," Draco frowned, looking a lot like a wet dog as he grumbled. "But yes, I should be able to pull it off for a few seconds. I seen my father do it once."

"I could try," Vincent announced. Blaise and Draco shot him a look before nodding. Then Theo was being passed off, to Greggory, who clutched him like he was dying. Maybe he was. Theo felt cold.

The whole breakout bit was blurry and hazy and Theodore really doesn't remember much aside from the shout the three boys gave as the wall shrivelled to nothing under their spell. Then there was a solid floor underneath him, Blaise in his peripheral and Theo couldn't keep his eyes open for any longer so he didn't.


	12. A Slow Pulse

-/-/-

Chapter 12: _If my Heart beats Slow then How Fast does Yours Go?_

-/-/-

Thawyer's heart jumped to his throat as the first years returned, looking half drowned. He jumped up, feet skittering over the rug as he rushed to assure himself the Nott boy was alive. Despite the fact the kid was limp in Crabbe's arms, he had a pulse and was definitely breathing.

"What the fuck happened?" Mulciber growled, a step behind him. Yvonne looked stressed and Thawyer most certainly was too, seeing as they'd been enjoying getting high not five seconds ago.

"Where the hell were yous?" Marcus hissed, eyes ricocheting to the portrait. Alcover swallowed his fear, thinking what the younger man was thinking and motioned for the first years to follow.

"Doesn't matter, c'mon," the kids didn't move, seemingly relishing standing in the safety of the common room. They were panting. Alcover's heart thumped in his throat, threatening to make him throw up; first Potter now these kids? What the heck was wrong with their first years this year? "Move!"

They skittered along like scared rabits, shaking from the cold. Alcover led them to their rooms, dragged Marcus and Gaunt in to help him and left the others to stew in the common room.

Nott was unconscious. Malfoy had a scratch on his hand. Zabini was teetering high on adrenaline. Crabbe and Goyle were just wet.

_Okay,_ he breathed. _First things first._

Corvinus speller the kids dry. They were too shocked to even realise he'd done so, srill shivering.

"What happened?"

Malfoy and Zabini shared a glance. Flint growled menacingly and they spluttered to answer.

"We went back to the bathrooms," Malfoy said.

"We thought Myrtle would know something," Zabini nodded.

"Found the Basilisk instead."

And _oh __gods, _Alcover wanted to scream. He felt faint and sick and horrified all at once, a group of eleven year olds coming across a fucking Basilisk? He was going to cry. It must've shown on his face because Corvinus patted his shoulder and crouched to the kids' level. They'd settled in a heap on the floor. Alcover was sure he'd join them in a moment, when his knees gave out.

"It didn't kill you?" He asked and _wow_ was that all he could ask them?

"No," Zabini shrugged, frowning as his previously wet robes cracked from the dried minerals on them. They'd created a nice puddle in the middle of the first year room so Alcover took it upon himself to begin the shuffle into the bathroom so they could at least shower at some point.

"It lunged then stopped and left," Crabbe said. "Then we saw the eagle again."

"Again?" Corvinus asked, glasses glinting in the torch-lit cavernous bathroom.

"The eagle?" Marcus frowned, arms folded over his chest.

Alcover sighed. "How did you all end up half drowned?"

The kids faces twisted and immediately Alcover knew he'd done wrong. Leaving it to Corvinus, he backed up to wake Nott. Had to make sure the kid wasn't comatose, after all.

They'd set Nott on his bed, after Corvinus had spelled him dry too. The kid hadn't moved, face blank with exhaustion. Feeling a tad guilty, Alcover sat beside him — it was never a good idea to hover over a sleeping Dark child, not with the parents they'd grown up with; quicker to use the cruciatus than words.

He could still hear the others in the bathroom.

"Theo touched the mirror it was in and suddenly the room started flooding."

"We couldn't get out. The door was spelled shut."

Someone had tried to kill them? A curse of infatuation to make the kid touch the glass and then something like a dispenser curse on the mirror for when it was touched? That was some high level magic. Alcover's stomach rolled at the thought.

"We had to use the imperial shield to get out," Zabini finished, sounding a tad proud but still so very _tired._

Alcover reached out, gently shaking awake Nott. The kid stirred, coming to quietly as he blinked up at the ceiling.

"Hey," he said, when it became clear the kid was a tad too jumbled to know where he was. Nott's eyes landed on him, recognition painting his face. "You good, Nott?"

Peace was cast aside for fear. Nott shot up in the bed, eyes wide as he looked for his friends. Shit, kid probably remembered nearly drowning.

Alcover looked at the boy and saw his brother, Michael, gasping for air after a fishing accident left their canoe capsized. He'd very nearly not grabbed him in time. His heart shrivelled in his chest, dropping to his boots. It thumped louder, almost deafening him. He was sure Vaisey could hear it from the common room, damn animagi senses.

"It's okay," he debated putting a hand out to reassure him but Alcover didn't know the kid's history. He'd risked the shake-awake technique and he wasn't about to lose his hand to some eleven year old's fearful accidental magic outburst. "Your friends are safe, you're in your room."

"Theo!" Alcover jerked to his feet as the gaggle of kids rushed to Nott's side. Grins were shared, muttered curses admonished.

He felt like he was intruding.

Marcus grunted for the kids to shower and efficiently broke them up. Alcover watched them all wobble off into the bathroom and promptly swayed on his feet. The high of the weed was gone, a shallowless pit left in his stomach in its wake.

Corvinus guided him back out to the common room where he dropped beside Melissa. The woman rubbed at his shoulder as he leaned on his knees and sighed.

"So what happened to them?" Vaisey questioned, reattaching himself to Corvinus' side as soon as the other had sat down. Marcus retreated to Tracy's side, nearly sitting atop the fire with their beanbag.

"Kids ran into the Basilisk," he explained. "Then when it left them alive, got enchanted into touching some mirror and nearly got drowned by what sounded like a dispenser curse."

The silence was tense.

Avery groaned. "Well, shit."

The Bloody Baron chose that moment to appear, looking pleased with himself until he blinked at them. Worry passed over his features as he leaned towards them. "What's wrong?"

Alcover shook his head. Melissa spoke up.

"The first years scared us," she bemoaned.

"Thought it would be funny to play a practical joke on us," Lucinda joined.

Yvonne yawned, stretching her arms high above her head. "It was good though. I think I'll head in now."

"Yeah," Jasnel tugged at Corvinus. "I wanna go to bed."

Quietly all the seniors agreed and left for bed. Alcover looked up in time to see the portrait's confused expression. He knew Snape would be onto then tomorrow but that was _tomorrow _and gods could he use some sleep _now_.

Melissa tugged gently at his sleeve. Alcover closed his eyes, took in a deep breath and followed.

-/-/-

Harriet was sitting up in bed, eating porridge, when Snape burst through the door of the infirmary. Pomfrey shot him a part irritated, part worried look but the man brushed her off, racing towards Harriet.

"What did they do this time?" She asked as he dropped into the stool beside her. Stress radiated off him, making her nose tickle. Harriet turned her head away to quietly sneeze before returning to her boring oat porridge.

She let Snape simmer as he mentally jumped through hoops. His breathing faltered, but only for a moment as he employed a breathing technique.

_Severus? _She poked at his mental barriers, finding them pulled high. It was an odd sight; usually Snape's walls were only at quarter-post but today they were nearly all the way up. She was right then, something had happened. Something that was probably related to either her or Draco for him to be this stressed.

Had he broken Millicent? Fear lanced through her. Very suddenly she couldn't hold her spoon anymore. It fell into the half empty bowl with a muted clatter.

"Severus," Pomfrey scolded finally. She scurried over to the man and stood by his side, whooshing air at him with one of her sturdier books. "You're scaring the poor girl! What are you doing?"

Severus took in a deep breath, suffered an eyebrow twitch when the book got too close and sat up straight. He looked composed this time, although his mind was still sealed. Harriet worried over what she'd see if she pried, so she didn't.

"Apologies, I'm alright," Pomfrey didn't seem to believe him but she tutted anyway and shuffled back to her desk. Harriet appreciated the fact she kept glancing over to them but the stark fact that she was on the Light's side was a brutal reminder.

Last night, Tom had went on a rant about how everyone in the Light loved kissing Dumbletwit's ass. Harriet had been encouraged to agree.

If Pomfrey heard of what had troubled Severus, Dumbledore would know within the quarter hour.

_Speak to me._

"There's a fifth petrified," he said, loud enough for Pomfrey to hear on purpose. "Pince."

As the mediwitch gasped and fluttered the book at herself dramatically, Severus opened his walls.

_A red haired woman dead in his arms— a babe in a cot, quiet but alive— Black framed for murder— Dumbeldore's cunning smile as he took the babe and wandered off._ _Death, so much death and grief._

_Severus__,_ she warned.

He pulled himself in. Then, calmer after a deep breath, _Your friends ran into the snake last night, before nearly being drowned._

He sent her the memory he'd plucked from Draco's mind. At first, the sheer panic the boy had felt hit her, before she could tone it down. Reaching for her glass of orange juice, she skimmed the memories.

Theodore had touched the mirror and the water had rushed them. Harriet wondered if something like that had happened with Millicent, only the mirror had sucked her in. That would possibly explain her brief absence but not how she'd ended up petrified.

Severus shook his head. _I don't know either. I took Thawyer and Carross down there before breakfast, after they came to me with the news but aside from a few collapsed cubicles there's nothing different. Even then, that only supports the Basilisk being there. There's not one drop of water anywhere._

_Odd,_ she thought back. _Millicent reached for the eagle before we fell but there was no water._

Silently she was pleased at how Eben hadn't killed her friends, despite how the Basilisk had obviously debated the notion. The big beauty evidently wasn't as insane as she had been, if she could choose who to kill. Maybe that bite had helped her wake up.

She needed to investigate.

"Can I leave today?" She whined, putting extra emotion into it.

Severus caught her thought trail and turned to Pomfrey. The mediwitch glanced up at them and when her thoughts slowly drifted towards _not yet_ Harriet gently nudged her towards _alright then._

"I suppose," agreed the witch. "As long as you don't start running around. Take it easy, let the boys do things for you." She winked.

Harriet offered a confused smile. "Okay?"

_"I'll do anything for you," _Tom murmured, sitting down at the end of her bed.

She internally fawned at the behaviour as Pomfrey dragged Severus off to assure the anti-venom potions would no longer be needed.

_You're the best, _she cooed, making sure to keep her walls up high with Severus nearby. The last thing they needed was the man catching on to the whole _the dark lord is in my head _thing. Even then, hearing her have a full-on one-sided conversation would be odd.

_"I try my best," _Tom smiled, slow and dangerous. He leaned forward, brushing one of her curls back with deft fingers. His green eyes burned themselves into her memory.

A question popped up.

_Why did you kill my parents?_

Tom went still, face going blank. His pretty green eyes seemed to dull, flickering between the bottle colour and a dark brown for a moment.

"Come on, then," Severus broke off the conversation unknowingly. For a moment the rage, thick as honey, flooded her before she could grab hold of it and lock it away. She'd been too late to hide it all and Severus blinked at her, stunned for all of a second.

He cleared his throat. "Unless you want to be here all day?"

"No, I, uh—"

"Don't rush her, boy!" Pomfrey shooed him off. She was by Harriet's side in a moment, carefully taking away the breakfast tray. "Now, be careful. I don't want to see you for the rest of this year, young lady!"

Harriet offered a laugh. "I'll try my best."

Pomfrey seemed pleased enough. Five minutes later, Harriet was walking down the cool corridors with Severus, mindless suits of armour standing guard in daunting rows. It was reminiscent of an old movie she'd seen once, where the main character had been forced to walk through a haunted castle and everything had watched him, where even the portraits had eyes and the suits of armours twitched for death.

No emotion came off these suits, though. Not even a killing intent. They were merely empty husks, being fuelled by magic.

_A quick detour? _Her head of house suggested.

Harriet laughed mentally. When she looked up to him, his eyes were twinkling. _Of course._

Ten minutes later found them standing inside the bathroom, Harriet staring down the gaping bottomless abyss. She reached out, spreading her mind over the small space and dipping _down_ to look for any signs of life. Aside from Severus, she found nothing. The room was empty, every crack and corner no different that before. Except for the fact, far down, she could feel water lapping up at her calves.

Taking a grounding breath, she closed her eyes and _felt._

—water rushing up, a giant wave, destined to drown them. _It's okay if I die_. A soft, melodious children's song lilting the walls, making them shake. Eyes watched, shadows filled out with the corpses of spiders, of rats and whispered tales of death. Death, they were going to die, didn't care that they were, the ceiling caved, large stones falling in a shower of dirt and dust and _death_—

She opened her eyes. "Has the ceiling ever collapsed here?"

Severus was silent, thinking. Harriet listened to his mind hum as she looked towards the mirror. It gleamed a sickly yellow, an odd colour she'd never seen before. There was no bird, but a hand clamped down on her shoulder and she stiffened before she could stop herself.

Harriet looked above her shoulder through the mirror, saw a girl frowning at her and the feeling of her blood boiling faded.

_"Help me," _the girl mouthed, words slow and anguished. Although the words were silent, they rung through her head. The yellow eyes told her who it was.

"You have nothing to fear, Eben," she spoke aloud, quiet but loud enough for Snape to hear and twist towards her in question. Distantly, she saw his eyes widen, felt his response build so she waved him off, feeling his emotions dampen and fluctuate. His eyes dulled. "No one will hurt you. Show yourself, please."

_"I'm sorry," _spoke the mirror apparition. _"Didn't mean to bite you, Mistress."_

Behind her, Severus was in the midst of wondering what she was doing but _trusting her _because the magic said so. Harriet drained him out, focussed on what was hers. She reached out to the mirror, feeling compelled to do so but froze when Eben screamed for her to stop.

_"The eagle you and your friends seen is the __Sorcerer's Stone," _she warned, tone heavy and dire. _"This mirror has merged with the Mirror of Erised and become a cruel test to find those worthy of the Stone's power. If you do not touch the surface without this knowledge it will harm you."_

Harriet was silent. Snape's musings told her of the Mirror of Erised foretelling the viewers greatest desire. She wanted to see what hers looked like. The Sorcerer's Stone, on the other hand, granted the owner the Elixir of Immortality. Certainly an interesting prospect.

"How has this came about?" She asked but was responded to with a desolate head shake.

_"I do not know, but I do know that should you touch the Mirror after casting a nullifier on it you will be gifted one thing of importance."_

"What like?"

Eben gazed at her, luscious black hair shimmering like her scales. _"I admit, I am unsure, but know that the item is but an illusion of your needs."_

"Not desire?" Snape queried.

He was not graced with an answer as Harriet murmured a nullifier and flicked her wand.

She reached out. Her hand tapped the Mirror's surface, feeling as though she was dipping her hand into a hot basin of water. Something hard brushed against her fingertips and Harriet instinctually gripped it back. She pulled her hand back to find herself clutching a large ring, filled with keys.

Snape shifted behind her, peering at her catch. Harriet frowned at the bronze loop ring that was the size of her hand and peered closely at it, almost missing the small words inscribed into the sides of the old fashioned long keys that clung to it. There had to be twelve keys, fourteen at most.

One in particular, grander than the rest, with swirling golden leaves adorning its bronze bodice, had the words **Potter Manor** written on it.

Very suddenly, she understood. Before Snape could read it for himself, she tossed the keys back into the Mirror.

"I'm tired," she said. "Let's go."

Severus floundered in place but followed her as she left. "Of course," he agreed obediently. "It is almost noon. Do you think you'd be up to having lunch in the Great Hall?"

She hummed and wondered who would have the real keys to her Manor.


	13. Let's Play, Fire

-/-/-

Chapter 13: _Think Twice before you __Play with Fire_

-/-/-

Harriet sat down in the Hall and was greeted by silence. Eyes bored into her back. The lack of sound was stifling. After a few glares from the older Slytherins conversations restarted, but the whispers about her were evident over the hush.

Amused, she listened in to them, all whilst assuring her house mates she was fine. The elders worried over the stark bandage on her arm and quite a few recalled rumours that spoke of her nearly losing her arm.

"I'm well," she smiled, not trusting her right arm's strength yet and thus reduced to holding her goblet with her left hand. "My arm and I are still best of friends, I assure you."

"Think she's the Heir of Slytherin?" Someone behind her whispered, only barely audible over the din the Weasley twins were making as they goaded their youngest brother on over at the Gryff's table.

Someone else added, "I heard the monster rejected her for being too evil, that's why it tried to kill her!"

"No," another voice entered. "I heard she sent the thing insane and cursed us all! That's why people are being petrified!"

Something flopped down in front of her. Startled, Harriet flinched back, gaze dropping to the orange paged newspaper with pretty moving pictures and weird squiggly words. Avery winked at her as she blinked down at the large _Daily Prophet_ scrawled along the top. It was today's edition.

"What's this?" She asked, despite already knowing. Gripping the rigid bundle of paper, Harriet skimmed the headline.

'Boy Who Lived is a Girl!' Screamed the header, followed by a large essay on her gender change. It had come in good spirits, Harriet realising that wizards and mages alike found transgenders to be nothing short of normal, unlike most of the Muggles. The magic population greatly believed that sometimes things were flawed, things went wrong and souls went to the wrong bodies. At least, that was the reasoning Harriet had managed to pick up from light mind skims.

"Rita Skeeter hasn't stopped talking about you all week, Potter," explained Thawyer. "Not even the lockdown of the school is getting this much publicity."

"Though, they do think it's because of dragon pox," someone mused.

"It's a good idea to keep up with the papers," said Tracy. "Especially when they're writing about yourself."

"They have a tendency for audacious claims?" Harriet smirked.

"Don't they all?" Mulciber rolled her eyes. "Sometimes our papers are as bad as the muggles'."

"Not always, though," a fellow snake hastened to say.

"Doesn't the Heir kill muggleborns?" A voice piped up from the end of the Hall, hushed but grating on Harriet's ears. "Why does Potter hate them so much?"

"Did you hear about Granger?"

"Oh yeah, she was found hours after Pince."

"The monster's scary."

"Potter?" Draco nudged her gently. He, like most of the table, looked concerned. "Do you want to go back to the dungeons?"

Harriet offered a small tilt of the lips, refocusing her eyes with a slow blink. "I'm alright," she hummed. "Just daydreaming."

"About what," Marcus raised an eyebrow, mocking but kind. "Listening in to children's rambling gossip?"

"You'll find that gossip has half the truth embedded within it, occasionally." She scolded, taking a long sip of water. The sandwiches before her seemed unappetising but for her stomach's sake she began to chew at one. "Although, unfortunately none spoken here are even the slightest bit true."

The table rumbled in agreement. The elders changed the topic.

"Did you hear about that fool author Lockhart's latest claims?" Began Pucey. "He's said he went up against a Romanian Hunchback Dragon."

"Yeah right," half the table snickered.

-/-/-

Severus slipped into the staff room quickly, narrowly refraining from baulking as all eyes raced to him. He met the other professors' gazes evenly and sat down beside Pomfrey, waiting for Dumbledore. The fire in the corner crackled and the closet still shivered.

"I hope you don't mind if I use the boggart for lessons when this is over," asked Lupin.

"Go ahead, lad," Flitwick was saying, in the middle of crooning on about the plethora of possible lesson plans before the large wooden door opened once more and Dumbledore emerged.

"Sorry to keep you all waiting," charmed the man, faux smile bright and cheery. "Fawkes decided to be a bit troublesome over his crickets."

"Worry not, Albus," Sprout waved her hand calmly. "All is well. My mandrake roots will be matured by the end of the month."

"No sooner, Pomona?" Dumbledore tried, sounding gentle.

"I'm afraid not," Sprout shook her head. "They don't take kindly to magic boistering their growth too much so that's all I can do for now."

"Very well, sounds splendid," the old coot smiled, eyes twinkling. His gaze landed on Severus. "And what of the other methods, Severus?"

"It seems myths are all they are," he claimed, having indeed went through book after book full of alleged potions to reverse petrification. Not one had worked, despite the claims. "Not one worked."

"Good thing we have the roots then, hmm." Trelawney nodded her head vigorously. "Although I'm afraid there won't be enough come All Hallow's Eve."

"I'm sure we'll be just fine," assured Lupin, trying to seem comforting as he spoke what everyone else was thinking.

"Oh, such brightness in the dark," wailed the divination professor, a beaded hand shadowing her eyes. "Quite possible, Mr Lupin. Although how can we be sure?"

"Another rooster's dead," piped up Hagrid when everyone shifted for something else to talk about. It wasn't the nicest thing to talk about but it was a relief from Trelawney's newest ramblings. "That's the third this week."

"Indeed," Flitwick said. "We still don't know who's doing it?"

"No," the half-giant shook his head morosely. "Still no clue."

"Well it can't be Potter, no matter what the children think of her being the Heir." McGonagall announced. "I think it would be near impossible to kill roosters in her state."

"And I only just let her out of my infirmary today," protested Pomfrey. "I vouch for her when I say she remained in that bed every night I had her."

"Quite the conundrum," mused Dumbledore. He pulled free a brass timepiece from his robes and pulled a face. "It seems I must go, but as everything is going swimmingly, I implore you all to keep up the good work. If you could begin tonight, Filius, I would be ever so grateful."

"Of course, Albus. Not to worry," nodded the half-goblin. Severus was too tired to pry into their minds to find out what they were up to; he reasoned it couldn't be that bad.

And with that he was gone, robes billowing out behind him as the door shut behind him. Severus frowned and resigned himself to a lonely night in his office, reading once again.

"Mister Snape," called the Bloody Baron from the empty frame over the fireplace. "Your Prefects are requesting your presence."

McGonagall looked at him knowingly when he sighed and stood. "It's only fair," she got in. "After all, I have the Twins. It was about time you had some troublemakers."

"My snakes are far from the troublemakers you make then out to be, McGonagall," he jested, only half defensive.

"I'm sure," allowed the older woman, tone smug. "Have a nice night, Severus."

"And you," he nodded, already out the door and wondering what his kids had done this time.

-/-/-

"Professor Snape," called Thawyer as soon as he got past the wall. The boy sounded relieved, something Severus had grown used to of late. The prefect rushed to meet him, a re-ocurring sight — one that remind him of the catastrophe his first years had gotten into the night before. It was a wonder no one else knew of the third floor bathroom's flooding incident. "We, uh, have a minor situation?"

"Is that a question?" Severus smirked, only a tad concerned. He glanced up, into the threshold of his common room, and found himself stopping where he was.

In front of him, curled in the middle of the room, was the Basilisk. The great beast blinked at him once before hissing and turning its head towards Harriet, who was sitting comfortably on its scales. The snake had coiled as one would expect as snake in a basket to, body rolled on top of itself with its head jutting out the top. It looked at peace, content to let its long pronged tongue slip out and gently caress the girl's bandaged arm.

Around them, sat the other Skytherin students, at ease and acting as if this was all normal. Not one looked afraid, all lulling about, reading or chatting. At his presence, a respectful silence had fallen, allowing Harriet to speak without having to make herself heard by raising her voice.

To say he was shocked would be an understatement, yet something wiggled inside him and nudged him towards peace, an odd little line of thought made him feel at ease. This was Potter's doing, so everything was alright. The girl had it under control.

(Later, he'd think back to this event and metaphorically kick himself as he recalled that _thought. _

He should've known it was no thought of his own. Should've realised the second Harriet's eyes gleamed — _too_ bright, _too_ green, _Lily, Lily, Lily_ — in that office, on the first day, but by then he'd already been under her spell. No wonder he'd been so at ease with her; no wonder he'd been so uncontrollably, confusingly _kind_.

Merlin, he was a fool.)

"Severus," Harriet nodded. She trailed a lithe finger down along the edges of where the scales overlapped, drawing a low, pleased rumble from the Monster of Hogwarts. Simply watching her settled Severus' rebelling gut, his mind assuring him there was no danger, no threat to run to or from. "Eben means no harm, she was lonely in the walls, was all."

Someone laughed nervously, a short puff of air. Harriet turned a narrowed eye to them and smirked. The boy's pined expression smoothened out and for a split second, the air was thick with magic. (Another sign he'd later berate himself on.) Severus stepped forth, drawing the snake's attention to him. _Odd_, he thought, staring at the beast's great yellow eyes as he was. And yet, he was not petrified.

"Is she here to stay?" He asked, wondering how they'd manage to keep a giant snake nestled amongst them a secret from the tattling house elves. Assured, he had his own reservations about the snake — it had _bitten _its master, after all — but if Harrier was going to take matters into her own hands then pressure would be greatly lessened on himself to keep things in check. "How do we know no one won't be murdered?"

Harriet looked over to him, a daring force of nature. Severus looked at her, _really _looked — and found Lily's determination staring at him, Potter's cunning and an indescribable royalty clinging to the straight set of her back and hold of her shoulders. If he wasn't careful this child's ambitions would overpower even his own and, would he linger too much, she'd eventually kill him. It stung to know the girl was already too far gone for him to save, the least he could do was steer her away from the cruel darkness of the world before she was ready to face it.

(Years later, he'd find he'd been too late even to adjust her path in the slightest.)

"She's tame at heart, I swear," Harriet grinned. There was a different air about her now, something sharp and commanding. The students didn't seem too distressed about a large snake being with them, even if that snake was the Great Basilisk, so Severus reasoned there was _some_ truth in that statement. "And she means no harm when I'm well."

He understood the warning for what it was. From the way the children nodded, so did they. Smart things.

"Of course, if there was a certain spell to make her a little smaller, no one would argue against its usage."

With a smirk, feeling oddly lethargic, Severus felt the pieces click together. "Hence why you summoned me."

"Indeed," Harriet laughed, offering a shallow clap. She was careful in showing how she favoured her right arm but she did so nonetheless. The Basilisk hissed and ran her tongue over the girl's arm once more, seeming to apologize. Harriet purred deep in her throat and the snake calmed, head drooping to bat her tongue at some fifth year who seemed stuck between unease and amusement. "So, think you could pull it off?"

Severus sighed. "I don't see why one of the older ones couldn't."

"They're unsure if their spells will work," explained the girl. "And I do _not _want Eben dead."

Her tone reminded him of the darker days of Lord Voldemort's reign, striking him back into old crumbling castles and screaming muggleborns. Even her eyes shone green like his had when he'd been using that fearful mind magic of his to tear lesser minds apart. The place where the dark mark had been itched, the black scripture long gone after that night a decade ago but imprinted into his mind whatever the date.

"Of course," he managed to say, raising his wand. The snake made no move to suggest it would strike him but its dull yellow eyes bore into his soul as if he were a mere toy. Thinking back to years ago, when he'd had to make his clothing smaller to fit, he recited the spell.

_"__Horreat descendit." _

Harriet jumped to her feet just as the snake began to shrink, keeping its body and features but slowly becoming half, then a quarter of its original size. Eventually, a small snake, barely the size of a small garden snake, hissed at the girl, yellow eyes and ridged crest the only signs of what it truly was.

"Good girl," Harriet cooed, easily offering up her right arm for the snake to slither up and curl around. It made for a pretty looking bracelet, Severus could admit, if it wasn't so obviously alive when it blinked. The shimmering black scales were quite the offset against bleached white canvas bandages.

_"Custodire carnem." _Harriet instructed, wand tapping gently on its head. The snake let out a low hiss, body turning to a sleek shiny metal that was wrapped loosely around the girls wrist. It was too tight to be removed but not so tight that blood was cut off. It made a nice piece. Harriet seemed proud of it.

"That is how we'll keep her quiet," she said. "No one will speak of this, to anyone."

The room was silent.

"Understood?" Harriet snapped.

"Yes," everyone agreed. Unknowingly, Severus found himself echoing the assent.

Harriet nodded, satisfied. "Good. Don't make me break out the Unbreakable Vows."

Severus sighed, trying to forcefully expel the tension from his shoulders. "I suppose I'm free to retire now?"

"I want to speak with you," Harriet said, and followed him into his office. He supposed there would be no reading for him tonight.


End file.
